When Death Begs
by Tiefling Zhai
Summary: “You’re too young, Haytham, to have yet witnessed how one second, one breath of self indulgence can alter the lives of everyone around you forever.” A story on Altaïr's descendants.
1. Chapter 1

The eight masters, clothed in their ceremonial cloaks, gathered with heads bowed. With no words, they passed around the aged pages and began to read.

_Chapter One_

Never in my life have I regretted, or will I regret, anything as much as bringing home that infant girl 20 years ago.

It was an error, a terrible, terrible error that I will regret for the rest of my life.

Because that babe, who I grew to call daughter, and she call me father, is now dead by my hand.

I must admit that the grief is still so fresh in my soul. It eats at me, tears at me, threatens to strip all of the flesh from my bones. It is difficult to move, difficult to breathe.

There is a part of me that wants to cut off my right hand, my sword hand, because I cannot look at it without seeing her precious blood dripping from my fingers.

I fear this grief may kill me.

But before it does, I owe Aless, no, my daughter, the writing of this story. And so I take the quill in my shaking hands, and I force myself to recount her life, which both began and ended in tragedy.

I was young. The brotherhood had taught me since puberty to not count the years since my birth, but I doubt I had seen more than eighteen winters, close to the age of my daughter when she died. I had recently passed the final test and earned the hood of the assassin. I was brimming with pride, eager to take my first kill as a ranked member.

When I learned I was to bring silent death upon an entire family, I didn't hesitate.

I scaled the tower wall at night, my white hood pulled low over my face. I was invisible, and more silent than the leaves that float in the night winds.

I slid in through a narrow window and found the lord, his wife and babe all on the bed, pillows piled around them, probably carefully placed by some attendant.

I didn't hesitate. A few quick steps and I was at the sleeping father's throat. My hidden blade pierced his flesh. He opened his eyes for one moment, and I watched a faint smile pass over his lips as his body relax. This was common -- for the victims to not be surprised at my blade. For many, death was a relief. They no longer had to wonder when Death would visit them, taking final retribution for their crimes and sins.

And that is what I was. Death.

The mother stirred, but did not wake. The infant was lodged on her nipple, nursing gently. It couldn't have been more than a few months old, so tiny a life.

I again reared back my arm, ready to let her die the same way. But she awoke with a start, her eyes wild.

What had awoken her? Some unseen nightmare? Or was I the nightmare, realized before her? I'll never know.

Her roaming gaze fell on her husband, bathed in blood, which had formed a puddle on the bed, dripped down the soft blankets and stained her own richly-dyed night garments.

I should have ended it at that moment, as she stared at her dead lover, but I didn't. I was so young. The thought of killing her as she struggled to make sense of it all didn't seem fair.

She didn't scream. She didn't even make an effort to run.

Her roaming eyes then settled on my face, which was hidden in the shadows of the hood. Realization struck her.

"You, you're going to kill me," she whispered.

I nodded.

"And my baby?"

I nodded again.

The mother's face contorted until she no longer resembled a human. It was a feral face, a face of prey as it stared into the open maw of the wolf.

"Please," she whimpered, keeping her voice quiet, her body still. Her behavior suddenly made sense to me. She didn't want to disturb the child. She wouldn't even make an effort to save her own life, or react to the horror unfolding before her eyes, if it meant disturbing her content infant, which still nursed obliviously.

"Please," she began again. "Please, not my baby. Please. Just no, not my baby."

Even at that young of an age, I knew fatherhood. I had found a lover when I was barely a man, and she had given birth to a son, my son. His name was Jaim, and he hadn't even learned to walk before he died. I had lost them both, my lover and my son, to plague no more than a year before my encounter with this stoic mother.

My family had died alone, hundreds of nights' travel away from me: I was training with the brotherhood, eagerly pursuing the hood which I now wore. My superiors had hidden my lover and child in a small village far from the guild for their own safety. So they died after I had only had the chance to hold Jaim once.

Of course, plague commonly takes away young souls like Jaim's. But I was young, and I blamed myself for not being there, for not saving them both.

As I looked at this mother and her infant, my own paternal instinct swelled within me. I couldn't kill this infant. Not tonight. Perhaps later, on the road. Let this mother die in peace, at least, and then I'll end this tiny life on my journey homeward. That was my logic.

I retracted my hidden blade for a moment, leaned over, and lifted the baby away from its mother. It began to squall. From a pocket I lifted a tiny vial, which I brought to its nose. The infant promptly slumped in my arms.

The mother watched this, and she didn't react. She must have sensed that I meant no harm, at least not then.

"Thank you," she whispered, and she relaxed in the bed.

And then I killed her.

It should come as no surprise that I arrived back at the gates of Masyaf with the infant tucked in my cloak.

During my journey, I had taken milk from cows' utters for the baby girl to drink and had stolen fresh blankets and cloaks from unsuspecting merchants to wrap her in.

Every time I rocked her, every time I fed her, every time I soothed her and touched her and whispered to her, I told myself, "Yes, tonight I will have to kill you. But not yet."

I learned on the journey that she was a girl. I had killed the mother without asking for her name, so I gave her the name of the mother of my son. Aless.

"Aless," I cooed. "Aless, Aless, Aless, Aless."

She was too young to smile, but she watched my lips move with wide eyes and an open mouth.

As I approached less than a half-day's ride from the guild, I knew that I had to make a decision. But this, too, was a lie. A lie that I had been telling myself since I had taken her from her mother's arms. I had no intention of killing her, not since the minute I first held her. I was in love with her, and there was no turning back.

As I was led by the amused guards to my master, I swallowed heavily. Aless was tucked into the crook of my arm, hidden from the harsh light of the midday sun. I followed the guards into the guild headquarters' inner chambers, to the feet of my master.

Ahraib stared at me as I knelt before him. I was not in my normal position, which required one fist to be planted to the floor and the head to be craned down, with the top of the assassin's hood touching the stones. That posture would have required a sharp bend at my waist and would disturb the content baby, so I simply knelt before him, my eyes cast downward.

And, of course, the fact that one of my arms was hidden in my cloak looked more than a little obvious, of that I am now sure.

My master had been browsing through the dusty tomes that were stacked for rows and rows high in his chambers, but as I entered, he turned all of his attention on me and my odd posture.

"Kaim," Ahraib said, his grey eyebrows creasing together. "Come before me."

I rose and took two steps toward him.

"Kaim, what is in your cloak."

I shook my head. "Nothing, master." I was such an idiot.

"Open your cloak, Kaim."

I just shook my head again.

His eyes softened. "Kaim, please. Don't make me have to go through the ceremony of calling in others. I have already heard of the treasure you brought back with you."

With a sigh, I opened my cloak, and out came Aless. She was tied neatly in a rich, red silk shoulder wrap, and I had placed a stolen gold choker necklace around her neck, which drooped down to her rounded stomach.

Master Ahraib looked at the infant for a moment and then took a step toward me and the child.

"No," I said. I put my free hand on her head and pulled her in close to me. She felt warm through my shirt. "No, please. Please."

My master reached his hand out. I could feel my muscles clenching as I thought of all the places I had hidden weapons. If he went to take her, I was convinced at that moment that I could kill my own master, who had been like a father to me, and fight my way out, killing all of the assassins in the entire guild if I had to.

But that flash of controlled panic flared out as I realized my master's hand was resting on my shoulder.

"Do not worry, my son," he said, and he moved his hand from my shoulder to on top of my hand, which was still covering Aless' newly formed skull. "I shall protect you from the wrath of my peers. Since you have brought her here, she will be taught in our way, used for our objectives. But until then, raise her, let her fill the hole left by your son and lover.

"I must strip you of your hood so that you may devote your life to this child. You have always had a gift in training others, so that will consume your days now."

My master sighed as his eyes fell on the babe.

"It was a mistake to send you on a mission while you still grieve. But perhaps this is destined. We are not meant to see the hand of God at work in our lives, Kaim."

I nodded, Fslightly dumbfounded.

"Go back to your chambers and be with your new child. I will send someone to you shortly to help you acquire what you will need."

All I could do was bow and hurry out.

All happened as my master said. Ahraib was a member of a circle of eight who knew all and could command all. I heard rumors that some of them wanted not only the life of the babe, but my life, as well, for compromising the secrecy of the assassins. But we remained safe.

I sometimes think my behavior during those first few years is what ultimately saved us: the way I fussed over her, the way I refused to let anyone else take care of her, the way I would stop whatever I was doing to attend to her slightest sniffle or moan. All of the love I couldn't show my own lover and child I could now pour into this girl, and I did so with abandon.

There were a handful of other children who called the guild home. Although most of our ranks were men, a few women earned the hood and were allowed into our gates. Naturally, this created problems. Although strictly forbidden, love always managed to sneak by somehow, even more elusive than we assassins. Soon, the women would end up with swollen breasts and stomachs.

When this happened, the two assassins were brought before the masters, and they would then decide which of the two was the more skilled in the art. That lover was commanded to continue taking on objectives. If that person happened to be the woman, she, of course, gave birth and was given time to rebuild her body before exiting the gates once again.

The other, less skilled lover, just like me, was stripped of his or her hood and was given other tasks, from making weapons to baking bread, so he or she could raise the child in peace.

Peace in an assassin's guild is a relative term, of course. We lost brothers and sisters almost monthly, and nothing grieved me more than when a mother or father died.

A child's wail is almost unearthly.

My own lover, herself a former assassin, gave birth to Jaim this way. I was much further along and more gifted in my training, so she was left with the task to raise him. However, her identity had been compromised on her last task, and the masters thought it best to put her in hiding for a few years before she was allowed back into the gates. She was pregnant when she left us. I managed to sneak out once after Jaim was born to visit them both, but I had to return in haste.

And then they died.

I never even had the chance to marry her. The guild kept one cleric within our gates for two purposes: marrying these elusive lovers and honoring the dead. You can guess which of those two tasks the cleric was called to more, especially in my own life.

The guild and death first. Love and family second. That was, and is, the reality.

But not to me, at least not in those early years. Taking the word from my master, I called Aless my little treasure, and I watched her grow.

She did not look like the rest of us. She had dark brown hair and striking clear-blue eyes, unlike the darker skin and jet black hair of the race that primarily resided in our region. Needless to say, father and daughter looked nothing alike. If anyone resented us for it, they never showed it.

Perhaps they feared reprisal from me. As the years went on, I trained so many youth. Unlike others in my position, more than half of the young recruits left in my care were granted the hood. I was hailed for this feat, and I slowly rose through the ranks. I was known as slow to anger and even-tempered, but I was also known as a slightly obsessed father. And thinking back, everyone was probably too afraid to comment about Aless' hair, skin and eyes, less they feel my whip on their backs.

Aless was always with me. She sat at my feet as I scolded at the youth who swatted at each other in the training arena. She was perched in front of me on horseback as I led those in my care over fences and around sharp twists and turns. She held onto my back as I led groups up cliff faces, my hands clutching small outcroppings in the rock and the tips of my toes balancing on footholds invisible to the naked eye.

She grew up around battle and bloodshed. She watched me transform innocent young men into embodiments of stealth and shadow.

And yet, fatherhood had blinded me. I thought she would always be my treasure, would always be at my side. It never crossed my mind that she, too, was learning the art of death along with my apprentices, or that I would not always be the only man in her life.

Both of these misconceptions were shattered when the grandson of Altaïr appeared before me.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It had been nearly a decade since I had brought home my Aless. Once each year, the brotherhood accepted new blood into training, and these youth were divided among we teachers.

As I kneeled at the feet of my master, Aless standing close, I heard footsteps approaching. Three, no, four young men, all still heavy of feet. They would need much schooling.

"Rise, Kaim," Ahraib said. "Your new apprentices."

I gave each a quick nod. Three of them looked much like the others in my care: thin, wiry males lodged between boyhood and manhood.

Yet the one on the end, I could see stark differences between he and the others. He was not of our race. Half, perhaps? Or less? His hair was dark, but not black, and his skin was pale. All of this drew attention to his light green eyes, which stared at me in open defiance.

"This one is too young," I said, nodding in his direction. I refused to break his challenging gaze.

Ahraib took a few steps forward. "How old are you, child?"

I saw his slim shoulders stiffen at the word "child." "Ten," he said, his voice clear with confidence.

I shook my head. "No, this will not do," I said. "Go back to where you came from, boy."

"No," he said, his chin craning upward ever so slightly.

Anger flashed through me. Youth had defied me before, yes. It was part of them discovering themselves as men and warriors. But never this young. And never with such brashness. "No? Would you say no to me?"

"Kaim," my master said, his voice level. "It has already been decided; you must train him. And truly, ten is not so much younger than the rest, is it?" Ahraib turned away from me and nodded to the four youth. "Go, to your quarters. Leave the inner gates. You will not be permitted here again until you are granted the hood."

"If you are granted the hood," I added.

The one of the end dared not turn his head, but I again saw his slim shoulders bunch up slightly.

"Such passion from that one!" I said when they were out of earshot.

Ahraib chuckled. "To be expected," he muttered. "Come, walk with me, my son."

I eagerly came to him on his left side, as Aless, always with me, matched my stride on my right.

"Where are we going?"

"It's lunchtime, and this old man is hungry," he said with a smirk. "But allow me to pose a question to you, Kaim. Who was Altaïr?"

I quirked an eyebrow. "Altaïr? Surely this is not a question for me, master, but my students."

"I know that you were alive when Masyaf almost met its end. But just tell me."

"Altaïr was the one who freed Masyaf and its people. He created the circle of eight masters, thereby ensuring not one held power, but many. He was the one who first suggested allowing women into the brotherhood, after facing a gifted female Templar. And ultimately, he …"

"No, no, no," Ahraib said. He nodded to another master as they passed each other, and I followed him around a corner. "Have you forgotten that I was on the original eight with Altaïr? I knew him, knew him well. Do not repeat his deeds to me. But tell me … A man capable of such deeds, what type of man was he?"

I paused. "Well," I began thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose he was a natural leader. Loyal, but also questioning. A wise, but hopeful man."

"Yes," he said. As I followed him down a flight of stairs and around another corner, I could smell the mid-hour's brew from down the hall.

"Why do you not have your lunch brought to you, master?"

"By God, think boy!" he said. "It will get cold, and I'm hungry. But come now, silence. Just listen to my next question. This man that you have described to me: loyal, questioning, wise and hopeful. Do you think him prone to love?"

I stopped dead, and I heard a wench behind me gasp as she struggled to not run into me. She cast her eyes downward and turned back the other way. "What are you saying? That boy is his son?"

"No," he said, chuckling. "Altaïr may have been a great man, but his loins were not eternal. That youth is his grandson."

I gently cupped my hands around Aless' ears. "Altaïr had no lovers!" I whispered.

"Truly, Kaim? No lovers?" he said, leaning in closer to me. "A man of that character, and that skill, and that rank? No lovers at all?"

"But during my training …"

"Yes, I told you that he remained celibate, the same tale that you now pass on to your students. It was a lie he himself told us to spin, hoping it would at least frighten young members into avoiding the flesh for a few years."

"It doesn't work," I said flatly.

"Yes, we know. But why change the tale now?" he asked me, but his attention was no longer on me. We had reached our destination, and I could hear the soup boiling in its cauldron. "Ah, yes. Dine with me?"

I let my hands drop from Aless' ears. "I think we shall wait until it is done and then brought to our chambers."

"Then be off with you," he muttered, dismissing me with a shake of his wrist as he reached for a bowl.

Once Aless was asleep for the night, I returned to my master's side to hear the whole tale. The elder sat cross-legged on fluffy pillows, puffing on his hookah with pursed lips. He patted a pillow close to him, and I sat, my legs also folded underneath me.

He offered me a stem of the pipe, but I shook my head. He shrugged and blew smoke out from his cheeks.

"Altaïr was already well into his years when he formed the original eight," Ahraib said. "You were not here to witness it, praise God, but we lived in chaos for a number of years after we were freed from slavery.

"Altaïr and his brother-in-arms, Malek, rebuilt the brotherhood with their own hands. And when they grew older, they had the wisdom to see that they alone should not hold power. Hence, they selected me, and five others, to form the original eight masters."

I tried to focus, but my mind's eye was centered on that young face with the green eyes. "But the boy doesn't look …"

"Yes, I know," he said, taking another long draw on the pipe. "Altaïr learned to never discriminate against anyone, race or religion." He grinned at me from behind his pipe. "Especially when it came to beauty."

"So his lover was …"

"A Christian, yes," he said. "It may sound odd to you, but he truly loved her. He tried to deny it for a long time, fearing that she would be exposed. But he could not stay away."

"And?"

Ahraib's thick brows creased. "And what? She died, of course, when their son was still young. Altaïr had many enemies, others than just the Templars. But do not pity her. She knew she was inviting her own doom when she welcomed him back into her bed.

"Altaïr raised his son until he was old enough to take control of the bureau in Jerusalem, which had been leaderless since Malek had pledged to stay at Altaïr's side to help him rebuild."

"Did his son, too, know the risks?" I asked.

Ahraib nodded. "Of course, of course."

"Yet he also …"

"Took a lover, yes. One of the assassins under his command in Jerusalem. They both died at the hands of the Templars."

"Together?"

"Yes," he said. I saw his eyes slip away. "You should have seen them fight together, Kaim. Poetry, I tell you. But before they accepted this last mission, they asked that their son be taken here, to Masyaf, for his safety. They must have known that they would not return."

"Did Altaïr ever meet him?"

"Yes, once, shortly after he was born," he said. "Which is why he never met your Aless. Do you remember? He was gone, on his journey to Jerusalem, when you returned with her. And he met his fate in that city."

I paused. "And now his grandson is here, and I am to train him."

"Yes," he said, blowing out smoke. "I fought hard to have him assigned to you."

"Why?" I asked, eyes wide. "What makes you think I need a handful like that one?"

My master reached his hand over my lap and pulled up my sleeve. There, on my shoulder, I had given myself a small, permanent marking: a four-sided gem. At least, I thought it looked like one. Others would ask, "What is that box on your arm?" But I knew. I was no artist, but I knew what it was, and that was all that mattered.

"I remember when I caught you giving yourself that, shortly after bringing home your babe," Ahraib said, taking the pipe from his lips. "Everyone else was mourning Altaïr's death, but you were locked away in your room, doing this. You didn't even think to pass the needle over fire before doing it, remember? You were too caught away in the task of it."

I nodded and gently touched the mark. "I wanted to honor my treasure."

"Yes, your treasure," he said. "Now do you see why I want the boy in your care?"

I rolled my sleeve back down and sighed. "Aless is my daughter, master. This boy will never be …"

"Of course not," he said. "Just show him kindness."

I just nodded, not sure how else to respond.

My master studied me for a moment. "None of the other teachers are capable of love like you. In fact, no one that I have ever known is made content simply through the act of loving another like you, either. It is your greatest strength and your greatest weakness." He paused thoughtfully. "Tell me, if I asked you to die for me right now, would you?"

"Yes."

"You see? You answer without hesitation. What if I had committed some terrible crime? Killed 100 men in cold blood, perhaps? Raped 15 virgins? Tortured and maimed your daughter?"

That last comment caused my back to straighten.

He chuckled. "That is the key difference between you and Altaïr. He would have responded to my question with, 'Why?' "

"Do you mock me, master? Have I displeased you?"

"No, my son, no," he said. "You are just different from him, that's all. Just different. Neither is better. Please excuse the wanderings of an old mind."

Still slightly perturbed, I moved my legs out from under me and prepared to stand, when a hooded brother burst into Ahraib's private chambers.

"Excuse this rudeness, masters, but I fear this is dire," he said as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes locked on mine. "One of your new students is claiming to be the grandson of Altaïr, and he has the others quite incensed. A sword fight has erupted. I tried to stop them, but …"

"Tried to stop them?" I repeated with disdain. I rushed out of the room, past the assassin caught in mid-sentence.

As I turned the corner, I could just barely hear my master chuckling under his breath.

I returned to my own humble quarters, which Aless and I shared, and threw a cloak over my shoulders. My boots were not in my immediate line of sight, so I used the moment to push aside a curtain to check on Aless, to inform her of my departure.

But she was gone.

Nothing but her blankets, left in a rumpled pile.

I forgot about the boots.

Suddenly, everything in my path was an obstacle blocking me from my daughter.

The stairs? No, I thought. That wasn't the fastest way to my students' quarters.

The fastest would be out the window found around the bend, down the outside wall, over the roof of the stables and into the small shack's back window.

As I reflect back, I realize how odd it must seem that I didn't ask for help. With masters, other instructors and assassins in every corridor and room of the inner court, why not ask that the guard be alerted?

But, of course, a father's love is not rational.

And as I flung myself out the window into the inky blackness of night, I was far from rational.

I heard shouts below me as I began to climb down the sheer wall, the hill winds whistling in my ears, flapping my cloak. My fingers clutched at windows, awnings, even the slightest of cracks and crevices in between the stones themselves.

In less time than it takes to exhale, I had descended about the same distance that a peasant's house is high. The roof of the stables was still far below me, and at least fifteen strides away from the base of the wall.

But in my panic, I was convinced I could make it.

I found a firm grip on an ornamental ledge, and, using all the upper body strength I could muster, I began curling my legs up against my body.

Soon, my feet were perched against the rock face, and my arms were extended as far as I would dare.

I had seen gifted swimmers use a similar posture to vault off of surfaces and cut through the water. And if it worked in the water, why not air?

With a great kick, I sent myself flying out and away from the wall.

In a flash, I saw the roof of the stables rushing up to meet my face.

But that sight didn't fill me with dread, but relief. I had cleared the distance and would land on the roof, not the sharp stones at the base of the inner court wall.

Thanks to years of training, landing was the easy part. Fighting against gravity's desire to squash me flat, I curled my legs up and lurched my head forward. As I fell, I tucked my chin into my chest, and I felt myself roll once, twice.

I used the inertia to jump to my feet and leap off the edge of the stable roof.

"Kaim! Kaim, what is it!" I heard a brother cry, but I wouldn't, couldn't slow down. I bounded over the fence around the training pit and dashed out the gates of the inner court. I heard the guards shout their alarm after me.

But by the time they found words to call out to me, I was already around the bend, out of their sight.

My leg muscles were beginning to burn from putting them under so much sudden strain, but I paid them no heed.

Templars? I thought. Had Templars attacked my students and kidnapped my daughter? Or was that green-eyed boy a spy? Whoever, whatever had taken my daughter, they will die.

I sprinted down a slight hill, toward the small huts where all of the students slept. Just as I had remembered, my own students' shelter had a small window: a hole cut into the plaster wall, covered by tattered fabric.

I came to a halt just outside the window. If they were Templars, how many were there? And if my daughter was their hostage, would they kill her if they thought their own lives in danger?

But no, that wasn't the case. It was already chaos inside; I could hear my students crying out: groans and moans of pain, curses of anger.

They needed me. My daughter needed me.

It wasn't until after I had leapt through the window that I realized I still wasn't wearing any shoes and didn't have any weapons.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

My senses adjusted to the murky candlelight and the sudden rush of noise and body heat. I saw a tight circle of my students surrounding the middle of the room. Blankets, pillows and injured youth were flung from one end of the chamber to the other; candles were tipped over, spilling wax on the floor; and the room was suffocating in the cries and clanging metal of battle.

I had managed to enter undetected, so focused were my students on what they were battling in the center of the circle.

To my right, I noticed a broom handle leaning against the wall. It would have to do.

Taking the handle in my hands, I entered the fray.

I leaned into my knees then lifted back up, swooping the stick as I did so. One, two, three of my students fell to the floor.

Stepping over their flailing limbs and into the opening I had created, I could now see it was, indeed, the green-eyed boy at the center of the chaos. He had a deep cut on his cheek, but other than that, he appeared unscathed.

Around him, my other students were flinching from various wounds as they struggled to get close, trying to find an opening. The boy was fighting with two long knives, the blades crossed in a defensive position. His peers tried again and again to break his wall, but before they could reach him with their own blades, he would spin on the balls of his feet and catch their metal in the crux of his knives.

He was fast, so fast.

But I was faster.

I sidestepped around another of my students, his sword dancing over the fabric of my breeches, and I ducked the swinging arm of the boy. I took the broom handle in both hands and, before he could turn around to see who had broken through, I pinned the splintered wood to his neck, pulling his head against my stomach.

But I wasn't finished. I shoved his small body down to the earth, driving the handle into his bare collarbone. When the boy fell to his knees, I danced around to the front of him, never letting go of the handle, so it now rested against the back of his neck.

Finally, he was able to look up at me, to see who had bested him.

I let him peer into my hood, into my eyes, before I dropped the handle and snapped my knee into his stomach.

The boy crumpled over, his knives falling from his hands, and I saw his lips part as the air slammed out of his lungs.

But before he fell completely, I grabbed him by his shoulders and kneed him again. With no air left to release, a stream of bile sprayed out of his lips and down his shirt. This time, I let him sink to his knees.

I, too, fell to my knees, so I could see him more clearly. I grabbed him by the front of his frayed tunic and pulled his face up close to mine.

"Where is my daughter."

But the boy couldn't talk. I watched him open his mouth again and again, his eyes filled with dread. Spit trailed down the side of his mouth.

"Where!"

I realized then that the entire hut, which about 20 young men called home, had gone completely silent, save for the occasional gasp or moan from the injured in the corners. All were watching me as I gripped the boy's shirt.

"Master," I heard from behind me as one of my students cautiously rose to his feet. "Master, what do you mean?"

"You're hurting him, master," another said quietly.

"Please, master, let him go," a third voice pleaded to my left.

They were afraid for him, I realized. A second ago, they had wanted to kill him, but seeing me bearing upon him, they feared for him.

"Father," I heard as a slim hand fell on my shoulder. "Let him go."

I dropped the boy, who fell limp to the ground, and I wrapped Aless in my embrace.

I squeezed her with one arm as I stroked her hair with my other free hand, making sure that she was, indeed, real. I put her at arm's length, examining her tender face, and then kissed her cheek, drinking in the softness of her skin.

"Aless, Aless, Aless," I said in between kisses. "You're safe, you're safe."

Satisfied that I had found her, whole, I rose from the dirt floor and scooped Aless into my arms.

"Who has done this!"

My students remained silent, but their faces blanched at the question.

"Would none of you answer? Was it him?" I asked, gesturing in the direction of the boy.

"No," one of my eldest responded. "No, not him."

"Then who?"

"We…we thought you knew," he said.

"Knew what?"

Aless gently pushed back her elbow, and I obliged her, unwrapping my arm from around her waist. She landed in front of me, facing me. "Father, I…"

"What?" I encouraged. "Who has done this to you?

"I was here. I came here, willingly."

I kneeled before her and pushed a curl out of her rounded face. "Did you hear the noise? Want to see what was going on? That was dangerous, much too …"

"No," she said firmly. "No, not like that."

The same student who had first found the courage of his voice took two cautious steps toward us. "She is truly gifted, master. And we thought you knew. Please, do not feel ill toward us. If we had known it wasn't your wish …"

"Wasn't my wish?"

"Yes, wasn't your wish for us to train her."

I rose to my feet again, and I let the hood fall from my face. "She comes here? When?"

"Some nights, while you sleep," Aless said quietly.

"For how long?"

"Five years, at least," the eldest said. "She used to cry every time she lost in sparring."

Five years, I thought. Still a babe. Incredulous, I managed to asked, "Used to?"

"Well, yes. Then she started winning."

Realizing he had probably said too much, the student bowed his head and went silent. Everyone went silent.

I turned away from my daughter to look at the boy. He had pushed his body against the wall and was clutching his abdomen. I squatted next to him. "Did you start this fight?" I asked him.

He shook his head. The defiance was gone from him. He had the eyes of one of my victims now: helpless, terrified, waiting for me to strike.

"Then what happened?"

"He claimed to be the grandson of Altaïr, master," came a voice from behind me. One of my youngest. "We would not let him be disgraced in that way."

I paused before centering my attention on the boy again. "Tell me," I said as I arced my arms around, taking the boy's long knives in my hands. "What is your name?"

"Haytham," he said, keeping his eyes low.

"A strong name, young eagle," I acknowledged, handing the knives back to him. "Who taught you to handle these?"

The question returned some of his strength to him. "My father, who was ..."

"Altaïr's son. Yes, I know."

My students gasped.

"Impossible!"

"That's a lie."

"Altaïr had no lovers!"

Another of the senior students scoffed. "No lovers? Really? Come now, did you actually believe that tale?"

I thought back to earlier that day when I had covered my daughter's ears at just the mention of such intimacy. If she had been with my students at night training, she had probably heard worse, much, much worse, and many times over, at that.

I turned back to Haytham, who was still clutching his knives, although he probably knew by now that they were useless against me. "Put those away, and do not take them out again," I said. "Your street fighting in Jerusalem has resulted in some sloppy habits. You must hold these higher on the hilt to allow a fuller range of motion of the elbow. And do not grip them so. You restrict yourself, deny yourself fluidity by not just letting them sink into your hands. A few months learning the art of the sword will correct these errors."

I removed my cloak from my shoulders, took off my shirt and offered it to Haytham. "For your cut."

His eyes locked on the ground, he accepted the garment and pressed it to his cheek.

I wrapped the mantle back around my bare skin, stood and turned back to my daughter, who had moved to stand with the other students. She looked comfortable among them, even though she looked slightly ridiculous standing in their midst, with her light skin, clean nightgown and short stature.

And, of course, she was the lone girl in a male's hut.

"During this fight, where were you, Aless?"

"She was up there," one of the seniors said, pointing to the top of a stack of crates. "Watching us."

"She will never challenge anyone unless she knows she can win, so she was examining Haytham in combat."

"How many of you has she challenged?" I asked.

About half of my students raised their hands.

"And all of you, defeated?"

They just nodded, but I could tell they were afraid to do so, afraid of my reaction.

But I was exhausted. I had heard enough. I again lifted my daughter into my arms, not caring that she probably didn't need my protection.

"Any of you physically capable of opening your eyes tomorrow will run with me after the morning meal," I said. "And we won't stop until dusk."

I shoved aside the curtain covering the entryway and exited the hut.

With Aless back in bed, a shirt on my chest and boots on my feet, I went to the stables. I ignored my brothers' curious stares and cocked eyebrows. I was in no mood to explain myself. And I couldn't sleep.

Instead, I mounted my horse. Some would object me calling him my horse: Even those of the highest ranking owned very few of their own possessions, to avoid the temptations of greed. Or, at least, that was the logic.

But I had an unspoken agreement with the stable boy. He kept others from ruining my stallion, and I stole treats for him from the kitchen. I brought him no leftovers that night, but luckily, he was nowhere to be seen, probably sleeping in some corner.

Once in the saddle, the world seemed easier to grasp and understand. Surely, I could make sense of everything now that I could view the world from the stallion's perspective, I thought.

I goaded him into a trot as I exited the inner court's gates. The guards dared not ask me any questions as I rode past them, my face hidden in the cowl of my hood. But I could feel their stares on me.

I avoided the village; the peasants became nervous when they saw high ranking members in their midst. Instead, I turned the stallion onto the path that lead into the hills, kicking him into a wide-paced, free-handed canter. The path wound around the borders of Masyaf's territory, having originally been created for scouting purposes. But I forced my students to run its entirety many times over, and I used it to meditate from the back of my horse on quiet nights.

I made the loop around the village and could see the soaring towers of the inner court. I thought about approaching those gates, but I wasn't ready to face the guards again. Instead, I turned the stallion right, toward the trail around the back of the stronghold.

The path became narrow and close to the towers; the inner courts had been built on high cliff faces to protect against invasion. On previous nights, I had encountered other sleepless brothers and sisters wandering in this area.

I prayed a silent prayer that wouldn't be the case that night.

But it was: As I rounded the corner, I saw Ahraib waiting for me, leaning against the stone wall, his arms folded over his chest. For a moment, I was tempted to just gallop past him. However, my master wasn't going to give me the option. He walked, slowly, deliberately, to the middle of the path and stopped. I reined the stallion in and slid out of the saddle.

"You knew you would find me out here?" I asked him as I approached, leading the horse by his reins.

"Maybe," he answered coyly. "Maybe I just enjoy solitude as much as you."

We stood there in silence for a moment, staring at the full moon as it lazily stretched out its beams and continued its arc across the empty sky.

"The other masters have requested a word with you at daybreak," Ahraib said, breaking the silence.

"I could have surmised as much," I muttered, pulling away my hood.

"You truly didn't know?"

I looked at him. "You did?"

"Of course," he said. "She herself asked me to keep it a secret from the other masters. She didn't want to train with the other women. Feared it would slow her down."

"By God, she's only a child!" I exclaimed.

"Open your eyes, man!" he said, poking me in the chest. "She was never 'only a child'! Call her disobedient if you wish, but do not deny her talent. The fact that she could sneak past you -- you! -- and you not know for all these years, she is nothing short of a prodigy." He poked me harder. "Do not let love make you so stupid in the future. Not only has your own daughter deceived you, but you were so stubborn in avoiding the truth that you almost killed the only known descendent of Altaïr."

"The boy is fine," I grumbled.

"Perhaps," he said. "But one of your students told me of the intent in your eyes. Praise God they had the courage to speak and stop you."

"So what will happen?" I asked.

"Some are calling to strip you of your teaching rights, force you into manual servitude for the rest of your natural life."

"I can guess who," I said as I remounted.

"Off so soon?"

"I do not want to hear the rest. I'll wait for the morning and watch the events unfold myself."

Ahraib moved out of the path and waved his arm ceremoniously. "Then don't let me keep you."

With a kick, the horse and I took off into the night.

One of the eight masters, Omran, hated me, and I him. Aless -- not my daughter, but my first lover -- was his child. Just as much as I blamed myself for her and my son's death, he found it my fault, too.

And nothing makes a man angrier than one who knows his greatest mistake and resents him for it.

Neither of us would either admit any of these feelings, but I knew.

When I was called into the masters' gathering hall, I couldn't help but glance at Omran's face. He was smirking at me, the old bastard. After all these years of waiting, he finally had something he could punish me for. And not some minor infraction; no, this was something that could have me exiled, if the mood struck them so.

He was loving this.

As the eight settled in their chairs, Omran was the first to stand and point a long finger at me, his sleeve billowing down. "Kaim tried to murder Haytham, son of Abbas, son of Altaïr," he said dramatically. "I only ask that God would give my brothers the wisdom to deliver a fitting punishment."

"I did not try to murder him," I snapped.

"You are not allowed to speak unless it is requested," another master stated. He turned to Omran. "Surely, brother, that you exaggerate. I do not deny this young man's brash behavior must be punished, but the boy is unharmed."

"And truly -- though I, too, say he should be punished -- is it so wrong a crime for a father to want to protect his child?" Ahraib asked.

"Brother," Omran said. "All know that Kaim is under your command and that you share a deep bond with him. Your thoughts on this matter should, therefore, be ignored. But you bring up another crime that we must consider, brothers. A young girl spending her nights in males' quarters! God be ashamed!"

"Yes," another said. "It is inexcusable for this to be going on so long without your knowledge, Kaim. But, if the tales are true, then her talent cannot be denied."

I dared to peer up again, and I saw the slightest of a curl flash over Omran's lips. "How old is your girl now, Kaim? You may speak."

"About ten, master."

"Ten, he says. Close to the age to begin training," he said, stroking his beard. "And if she is truly as gifted as your students say, then it is only natural that she be entered in training formally."

"No, she is too young," I said, trying to keep my tone level.

"Silence," another said.

Omran, emboldened by my infraction in etiquette, stared me down and then turned to the other seven. "We have learned that Kaim is incapable of caring for his daughter in a way that doesn't shame the Lord God or the brotherhood. And we have also learned that this girl, though she of foreign blood, is talented, yes? So let us enter her in formal training," he implored.

"Yes, it is a logical suggestion," another said. "Not only would the girl receive proper instruction, but she would also be placed in the women's quarters."

"And Kaim, the age was fast approaching when that would have to be done, anyway."

"Fair and wise observations, my brothers," Omran said. "If any object, let him speak now."

Omran knew that it was Aless and Aless alone who had saved me from the grief of my family's death. He had always been jealous of the bond between me and Aless. After all, in his eyes, he had no children or future grandchildren, and it was my fault.

Ahraib must have seen the desperation building on my face. Fearing I would speak again and risk further punishment, he said, "Oh, come now, brothers. Let the man have a few more years with his daughter, while she is still young."

"Ahraib," a master to his right said. "In this, I must agree with Omran. Your care for Kaim makes it difficult for you to see this matter clearly."

Ahraib sighed in frustration and sank bank in his chair.

"If any object, let him speak now," Omran repeated.

None did.

And Aless was taken from me.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I couldn't stay in Masyaf.

It wasn't out of embarrassment or shame. Although, I must confess, I felt those emotions, as well. After all, a ten-year-old had bested me. And even though none said as much out loud, I could see it in the faces of the masters, the other instructors, the brothers, even some of my own senior students.

But that I could have ignored.

What I couldn't ignore was that Aless was only a brisk walk away from me, yet she was learning the art of death, and I could do nothing to stop it.

Seeing her with my students and learning of her trickery, I finally realized that a simple, carefree childhood was something she would never experience. And it was my fault.

When I returned to my chambers that morning after the gathering with the masters, all of Aless' things were gone. Her clothes, her bedding, her writing tools. Even the gold choker I had placed around her neck on the journey back to Masyaf, gone. Her training had begun. It meant that I would only see her on rare occasions, and even then it would be in a public, formal setting.

Without her near me, nothing could shield me from my old injuries. Aless had been the salve to my grief. That is the trick with wounds: Eventually, you must let them feel the outside air, or the ointment actually causes them to go moist and fester. But back then, I didn't know that. All I knew was that loving Aless with everything I possessed made me forget my dead wife and child.

With her gone, there was nothing to numb the pain.

I didn't cry, of course. That wouldn't be fitting. I just became very, very angry.

I requested a second audience with the masters a few sleepless nights after my daughter was taken. As they took their seats, some looked annoyed to be seeing me again. Omran had an amused expression on his face, and Ahraib couldn't hide the concern from his creasing features.

"Be quick," one said.

"I request to be granted the hood and to be transferred to Damascus," I stated.

None of them could hide their shock. Some gave vocal exclamations, while others sat up in their chairs. I had caught their attention.

"You have already been granted the hood once, and you gave it up for the child."

"My daughter is gone to me, so I wish to serve the guild as a brother once more."

"You're too old to begin anew!"

"I am only approaching my third decade," I retorted. "And do not pretend that I am new with a blade."

"Kaim," Ahraib said. He was not using the tone appropriate of a master, but a father. "Kaim, please. The pain will lessen. Do not do this."

"No, no," Omran said, raising a hand. "I believe if this man wishes to retest for the hood, let him. We need more brothers in Damascus to 'acquire' us some more of her legendary steel. And considering the city's current uncertain political future, perhaps now is the time to reconsider our commitment there." Omran must have sensed my intent. And he was more than eager to grant me my death wish.

"Is this truly your desire, Kaim?" Ahraib asked.

"Yes."

"Do any object?"

No one responded.

But I didn't wait for them to grant me approval. I had much training to do.

The retesting for the hood was just another obstacle thrown in my path to humiliate me. The masters knew I would pass, but many delighted in watching me compete against men at least ten years my junior.

But it didn't matter. Once the white hood was pulled over my head, I felt a shadow resurrect itself within me.

In less than a year after that meeting, I found myself in the alleys of Damascus. The masters had no qualms in hurrying along my reassignment. Omran's words were true: Even though the brotherhood's focus had moved to other areas as the war's rekindled fires spread to new regions, many opportunities were still lying in wait there. Opportunities that the Templars would seize if we did not stop them.

But I had no care for any of these matters. Damascus was also the city of my birth and the city of my past, and I wanted to know what had become of it. Cities after a war are raw places, like the air after a storm. The buildings and streets themselves seem to shudder and quiver with possibility.

Upon my return, I soaked in all of this raw energy. I laid my fingers over the mouth of the city, testing for her breath. And when I felt it on my skin, I set my own rhythm to match her, becoming one with the chaos.

Damascus' bureau leader quickly picked up on my restless thirst, and he used it to his advantage. Other brothers were sent on task that required a more delicate, nuanced skill set. I, however, eagerly accepted missions that involved plunging my blade deep into the city's murkiest of pools. No matter who my target or how dark the deed, I seized it. And it was just like old times.

In my youth, I did not fear the grimy corners of human existence. It was, after all, where I had grown up -- the grit and undergrowth. My parents were murdered by common street thugs when I was very young. And afterward, I survived alone, my cunning and instinct my only allies. I slept with my back against cold walls and my fingers curled around a short sword.

That was when Ahraib found me, back when he himself was still a hooded brother. He identified the talent in me, and I think a part of him also wanted to save me. And for a long time, I forgot my former life. I began identifying myself by my ascending rank in the brotherhood rather than my reputation among the shadows.

When my wife and son died, I felt the streets calling to me again. Only Ahraib's steady, guiding hand kept me focused on obtaining the hood instead of sinking back into the despair, back into the streets. I was still enough of a boy then that his direction was enough.

But after Aless was taken, nothing could keep me from returning. Although Ahraib tried to reason with me before my departure, he was no longer the infallible figure I remembered from ten years ago. His reassurances could not silence the quiet, intimate whisper of the streets. I answered her call with no regrets.

It is hard to remember much during those six years in Damascus, except for the overriding sensations: Smelling rotting, diseased flesh; hearing the wails of starving babes as the new sultan squandered the people's food; feeling the city's breathless anticipation for a climax it would never be given.

I slept standing up and befriended no one. I kept my distance from the other assassins stationed in the city, who wanted nothing to do with a disgraced, old brother, anyway. I killed many, fucked many. No, I never made love. Just fucked.

Ironic, isn't it? Losing my family had brought me to that state, yet I was spreading my seed as eagerly and guiltlessly as a mongrel. I cringe to think of the children I left scattered in those alleys.

Those six years came to an abrupt end, and that end began during a mission that sent me into the poor district's darkest corners. I was to seek out "the man with the mole." Apparently, this man had found his way to the ear of the sultan, and the brothers had reason to believe that he had also been accepting treats from the pockets of the Templars. A direct information line between our enemies and this new power could not be established, the bureau leader explained with fervor.

But I cared about none of this; all I was interested in was my objective. I was to retrieve the name of the Templar feeding him these tidbits. And if the name slipped this man's memory, I was to carve it out of him.

I found him in an alley, sitting cross-legged in a tight circle of five other slobs who were throwing short, multicolored rods against a wall. I was perched on a rooftop above them, watching from afar, but I could still hear the sharp, metallic clink of their coins as well as their shouts of triumph and defeat.

Just as the other brother had reported, my target had a thick, dark mound of wrinkled flesh on the back of his neck. In the moonlight and from the rooftop, it looked like a giant roach had burrowed into his skin and was feasting on the thick folds.

In my younger days, when my sole purpose was to please Ahraib and the other masters, I would have waited for the game to end and for my target to separate himself from the others. I would have shown patience, restraint and subtlety.

But my allegiance was no longer with the brothers. It was with my new dark mistress, the city of Damascus.

I vaulted off the roof, landed on the balls of my feet and pulled free my curved short sword.

As the men saw me approaching, my blade hanging low, they let out guttural moans of terror and tried to flee. As they scrambled to find their feet, the piles of coins in the center of the circle were scattered, flying up into the torchlight and glinting like pieces of the forgotten sun.

I watched, amused, as they tried to lift themselves off of the ground with their hands and skitter away. My target was the most obese of all of the gamblers, and he was having the most difficulty. In his desperation, he clutched at the garments of his friends' clothes as they found their legs, pulling them back down into the mass of flailing arms and joints.

I felt like I was observing fish flop around in a barrel.

Finally, one broke free from the mass, then a second, a third, a fourth. All that was left was my target, still sitting on the ground, heaving and sweating. He was no longer trying to move. He knew it would have been futile.

"Oh no, don't get up," I chided.

"Assassin! That's all you are, a dirty assassin!" he sputtered, pointing at me.

"So if you know what I am, you know what I want."

"I know nothing, nothing, I tell you," he said. "Go take that message back with you."

I sighed audibly, feigning disappoint. "Oh, to think …"

"What?" he said, his eyes going wide. "What? To think what?"

"To think you could have died a peaceful death." And I leaped upon him, driving my blade through the top of his hand and pinning it to the earth.

I knew the scream was imminent, so with my free hand I grabbed a crusted bit of cloth lying in the dirt and shoved it in his mouth. I watched his eyes roll back, and then center on me, then roll back again.

"Oh, don't faint, now. It will only prolong your suffering."

He made a whimper of acquiescence.

"This is how it will work. Every time you again tell me you know nothing, I will turn my sword. Do you understand?"

He nodded, his neck folds bouncing with his eagerness.

With one hand still on the hilt of my blade, I gingerly removed the rag from his mouth. "Now," I said gently. "Who is the Templar so eager to use you to lick the ear of the sultan?"

"I tell you, I tell you, I know nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing! Please, let me go, let me go, let me go …"

I shook my head and replaced the cloth, now wet with saliva. I changed the grip on my sword and, with a twist of my wrist, rotated the blade.

A fresh spurt of blood erupted out of the wound, and tiny, razor-thin bones pierced through his flesh. He couldn't scream, but I watched him retch inside his mouth, yellow liquid trailing out the corners of his lips.

When I removed the rag, a stream of vomit came pouring forth. I carefully moved my boot to avoid the mess.

"Must I ask you again?"

"No," he pleaded. "No, no, no. Thorthgar. Garath Thorthgar. There, you have your name. Just let me go."

"Now what good would letting you go do, hmm?"

Before he could process what I said, I pulled my short sword out of his hand and sliced it diagonally along his fat neck, driving in deep enough to piece the windpipe. Hot blood pumped out of the wound, spraying my white cloak. His mouth gaping as he struggled to draw in air, he reached a clubbed finger up to feel the wound.

I could have ended it, but I didn't. I just watched him slump against the wall, pursing the lips that refused to grant him oxygen. Slowly, his skin grew paler and paler and his mouth movements became less frantic.

I didn't notice her until after I rose from the dirt. A woman, desperately squeezing herself into the corner of two building walls, yet unable to take her eyes from the carnage at my feet.

I stepped closer to her, carefully avoiding the vomit pile. She was slender and dark, with sunken eyes and gnarled hands. The city was eating her alive. Perhaps once, in her first years of womanhood, she had been beautiful. But she had spent too many moons crawling along the bottom side of these alleys.

"Men like you, they aren't afraid of the night," she said, pressing her hands against a wall and arching her back. When I saw the hunger in her eyes, I realized that we were similar, both servants to Lady Damascus. I could not blame her for showing the physical signs of following her loyally her entire life, after I had only recently repledged my servitude.

"No, we're not," I said, resheathing my blade. "But do you know why?"

"Because you are the thing that makes others afraid."

I chuckled deep in my throat and drew closer. "And yet you still beckon to me."

She pulled her blouse down for me, exposing her breasts the smooth moonlight. "Maybe if I bed you, the night things will not come for me anymore."

I closed the distance between us. "You are free to test your theory, but I cannot guarantee its success," I said, driving my hand in between her legs.

She threw her head back, and I cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle her shock. Once her pupils returned to normal, I took her skirt in my fists and ripped it up to her inner thigh.

"Bend over."

And as I seized her hips in my hands, I heard the man with the mole give his last, gurgling gasp.

"Garath Thorthgar," I repeated to the bureau leader the following evening, as he rooted around in the spare room.

He looked up to acknowledge me, but his lips curled in disgust. "Oh, by God, you've stained your robes! Was that necessary?"

I just shrugged.

He groaned and began digging around in his stores. "Pray that I have another one, or I'll make you walk around like that, looking like a butcher. See how long you go undetected then!"

He found one and threw it at me. I began to unstrap my weapons as he pulled out a thin, rolled parchment. He read it and eyed me with a smirk.

"You are to go north, back in the direction of Masyaf, to find this Garath and his encampment."

I pulled the stained cloak off my body and let it land in a pile. The new one smelled of dusty places, but at least it wasn't tattered.

"No," I said as I situated my hilt at my hip. "I'll stay here."

"This is not my doing, Kaim. I was told if you brought back that name, you were to go immediately."

"By who? Who told you?"

"The masters. A direct order," he said, waving the parchment back and forth. He paused, leaning against the shelves. "They said that this man may look familiar to you."

"Impossible. I have had few missions that involved direct contact with Christians."

"Yes, but there was one in particular. Do you remember?" he said, enjoying the chase. He roughly tapped me on my upper arm. "That mark here? The other brothers tell me it is to honor the babe you stole during a mission, yes?"

I turned away from him, balling my fists at my side.

"Thorthgar is the surname of the girl you grew to call daughter," he said carefully. "And Garath is her full brother."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

During those six years, I had been very, very careful in avoiding anything that reminded me of Aless. I didn't deserve to think of her, and I was ashamed of myself that I had ever dared to call her my own.

Yet when I heard those words of the bureau leader, the father I had been to her for ten years and the animal I had became came crashing back into one body.

Sensing the chaos brewing within me, the leader took two cautious steps back, his palms facing me. "Oh, now! Don't hurt the messenger," he said, unable to keep an amused smirk from his lips. "Besides, view this as a golden opportunity! You are being given a second chance to wipe out the rest of her bloodline. Once that's done, you'll never lose her, right?"

I didn't answer. I just stood in that same spot, with my fists low and my eyes to the ground. After a few moments of standing like that, I found my voice. "But I was told she had no siblings. That there were no heirs."

"Well, a mistake was made then, obviously. The boy probably discovered his parents, all cut up into pieces, and swore vengeance against you. Or something like that. I know how these stories go," he said flatly, but I could hear his intent. He was teasing me. My pain was nothing more than a cheap show for him.

My sword hand suddenly grew itchy.

But the bureau leader must have realized he had pushed me too far. He gave me a quick pat on the back. "Go, go, the night is young," he said. He handed me a map that had been sent with the message and dared to give me a slight push. "If you hurry, you can flee the city tonight and find somewhere safe to camp."

He was quick to back away from me, but his eyes twinkled with mirth.

Suddenly, I felt the entire weight of the city on my lungs. Its walls were falling upon me, each stone a sin I had committed. I had to get out, tonight. With no words to the leader, I leaped up the wall and climbed out the exit gap.

"Good riddance," I heard him call out behind me. "You've lost all sense, Kaim. You've gone mad!"

My hands gripped a building ledge as I listened to his words die in the open sky. Mad, I thought. Perhaps the streets had made me mad. It was possible. After all, it had been six years since I had last experienced a meaningful encounter with another human being. Isolation is dangerous, especially for a fragile soul like mine.

No, I wasn't mad yet, I realized. I still had enough sanity to identify my own feelings: loneliness, regret, longing. And none of those feelings would subside as long as I continued sleeping in the bed of Lady Damascus. I took one last look at the skyline and began leaping along the rooftops toward the city's guarded gates.

I rode hard and long for many hours through hidden trails that zigzagged close to the main roads. It was only when the horse I had stolen refused to respond to my incessant kicks that I decided to stop and make camp. I risked a small fire and became lost in its flames.

Fires do something to a man. They allow him to examine the inner-most workings of his heart while still keeping sane. The fire brought Aless' face to my mind's eye. I thought of the last night I had seen her, when I had wrapped her in my arms and kissed her over and over again on her rounded cheeks. How beautiful she had looked with courage and wisdom flickering in her eyes.

Surely it wasn't I who taught her that. No, she was born with that defiant streak. It was inherited from her parents, whom I had slain.

Her brother. She had a brother. Would he look like her? With clear, blue eyes and tight, auburn curls? Could I kill someone who looked like my daughter?

As I thought of her, I could only see a ten-year-old girl. But I knew that image to be a lie now. Although I had been locked in a state of ignorant stasis for six years, she had gone against my wishes and continued to grow. As a woman, as a warrior.

Could she beat me? I wondered. Would she measure my skills, see my flaws and then challenge me, already knowing the outcome?

I turned away from the fire. I couldn't bear to think of her any longer. It was selfish to even imagine I would ever see her again, and a part of me didn't want to. What would I tell her? How would I explain my six-year absence from her side?

These questions had no answers, at least not yet. Instead, I focused on the mission. The map detailed the movements of the encampment. They had been steadily inching north for months, but it appeared they had settled into some castle ruins for a few weeks. According to the message, they were not expected to move any time soon. I was to kill this Garath and any others who struck me as holding a position of power.

In short, a blood bath. And I was in the mood for a blood bath.

I stamped out the fire and let my horse free. He couldn't continue traveling, I but I could. I left the tack lay and continued my journey on foot.

Three nights later, I crouched behind a squat wall of old stones. Calling the site castle ruins was a bit of an exaggeration. Whatever had attacked this structure hundreds of years ago had made sure to leave hardly anything behind. It was nothing now but a graveyard of bleached bones and a few walls, each no higher than a man, that refused to give in to the test of time. The looters had picked this place clean over and over again, leaving just the remains of the ancient sentries who gave their lives guarding the fortress.

About forty men had fixed a permanent camp there. Most were asleep, their tents protectively tucked in against the stone walls. I could easily identify their captain's tent, which was slightly more elaborate than the lean-tos. Although it, too, used a wall as defense, it also had an attempt at a roof: Beams had been planted in the dirt and along the top of the structure, and red cloth had been thrown over the frame. It was large enough for a man's living quarters, but little else.

Although their living conditions were laughable, their numbers were not. And neither was their skill. I watched two restless guards spar with their swords. Sure footwork, balanced thrusts. They were well-trained. Two could be easily defeated, yes. But not all of them at once. And their skill was only a testament to their master's even greater skill, of that I was sure.

I won't deny that there was a part of me that ached to rush in, to let them surround me and just wait for that one lucky blow to end my life. But my other thought ruled the day: I wanted to see this brother of hers. I still didn't know if I could kill him, but I wanted to see him, if nothing else.

There was no way to approach the captain's tent undetected. I had scouted around the perimeter of the ruins and discovered three guards on each side of it, even along the outside of the wall. Peculiar, considering there was no one else around for miles and miles, I mused.

Some call we assassins cowards, nothing but snakes that slither into battle and seep our poison into the ankles of noble warriors, who look one another in the eye during their war games. I say this is all a farce. Death is death. It is the ultimate end, the strategy of all strategies. Once your enemy is dead, what good does honor do him? Nothing.

At least, that was what I told myself as I leaped out of the shadows and sliced through the ankle of a guard's mount as it approached me. The horse's eyes rolled back in its head and it began to stumble. The rider, who still hadn't spotted me crouching against the wall, pulled at the reins and thrust his body up in the saddle, trying to ride out what he believed to be a common spook.

But the horse, a hot-blooded mare with thin legs, couldn't take the pain and, after a few moments of feverish swaying and stumbling, fell on the group in a heap. The rider managed to leap off squarely, his face scarf staying in place.

"Frances," another of the mounted guards called out. "Frances, what has happened? Were you thrown?" I heard him chuckle, and he was joined by a few other restless warriors.

"Answer him," I growled, pressing my chest against the warrior's back. I let my retractable blade skate across my captive's lips. "Or I'll cut them off."

"Yes, yes," said the voice. A woman, I realized. But she kept her voice steady. "I'm fine. Just a little bloodied up. He's run off into the brush. Let me go find him, and I'll return."

Lowering my blade down to her throat, I led her behind another of the short walls and made her crouch and face the stones. I jerked her arms back, ripped free a piece of cloth from my belt and began binding her hands. She had no difficulty holding the awkward pose as I worked on my knot. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties, I realized as I scanned over her tight body. And well trained.

The task completed, I turned her back around.

"We knew you were coming!" she whispered through gritted teeth.

"As I can see," I said to her. "But let's play a game, yes? I'll lead to back to the encampment, and you'll be my hostage. And then, your comrades and I will barter: your life for an audience with your captain."

"A foolish, reckless plan," she responded. "How do you know me of any worth to them?"

"Then your death shall provide a sufficient distraction," I said. "Now show me your face." I reached up to loosen her face scarf.

"I don't think you'll like what you see, Kaim," she replied coolly.

The scarf fell. And I looked into the grown face of my daughter.

Everything tilted. I let my bladed arm fall. "Aless?" I choked out, reaching for her face with my left hand.

"No, you fool," she said, spitting at my fingers. "Her sister. And Aless is not her name! I will not let you disgrace Bethanee any further!"

"But Garath …"

"A cover," she said. "There is no Garath, only I. I hide in plain sight among my men. Isn't that what your cursed brotherhood teaches?"

I tried to understand, but I couldn't. Not as I looked into those eyes, deep and volatile as an ocean whirlpool.

"Why do you not strike, assassin?" she goaded, still keeping her voice at a whisper. "Weren't you sent here to kill me?"

"I … I can't," I said, reaching for her face again.

"Then my men shall kill you," she said, dodging my touch. "You must not be alive when Bethanee is brought back to us."

"Brought back?" I asked, my head still swimming. I was drowning in her eyes.

"Fool!" she hissed. "Masyef, your precious stronghold, is crawling with Templar spies. Even one of your eight masters is our own! He warned us of your coming, and we were ready … But even we cannot prepare for dumb luck.

"Do you not wonder why you were sent on this mission? The other masters were convinced by our man to send you in order to keep you away from Masyef while the chaos broke out. That is why we camp so close to your lands! He plans to tell your daughter the truth. He will tell her you killed her mother, her father. And then we'll make her our own. If she will not answer to logic, then we'll take her by force. This disgrace shall go on no longer!"

The spell was broken. I swam out of the whirlpool. My daughter was in danger. I threw back my arm, and, keeping my eyes shut, I drove my blade into her stomach. I heard her gasp, felt her body convulse against me, but I kept my eyelids pinched down.

"Who?" I howled, pushing the blade, up, up, inching closer to her heart. "Tell me! Who is it? Omran? Is it Omran?"

But she just laughed. "Now you kill her only sister. What have you accomplished, assassin? Do you really believe me the one pulling the strings in Damascus? That slob you murdered knew my name, but it was only one of dozens, no, hundreds of others. This death means nothing. Except that your daughter will now see your true face. She'll come to us, beg us to accept her."

"She's mine!" I said, pushing the blade in deeper. I felt blood spray on my face as she coughed.

"She was never yours, you selfish, selfish bastard," she said, choking on her own blood. "You stole her. I watched you steal her. I was there, you son of a whore. I saw the whole thing. I watched you kill my parents, take my only sibling from my mother's arms. And on that day, I swore I would become a warrior, a killer, a fiend … Just like you."

I felt her breath in my ear. "Because of your dumb luck, you have denied me my one chance for vengeance. In return, you must open your eyes and watch me die."

And, despite everything inside me warning me not to, I obeyed. I looked into the face of my daughter while death's hand was upon her. Her breath was coming out in ragged gasps through blood-stained lips, and her skin had taken on a yellow sheen. But an even worse sight was the utter hatred I saw in her eyes. Her whirlpools were boiling now, and if she had her way, I would be immersed in them, my flesh bubbling off of my bones.

"Now," she breathed. "Now end it."

I pulled my blade out from her and then slammed it into her heart.

Her back arched, and I wrapped her in my embrace. I buried my nose in her brown curls as I pulled the blade back out. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

But she was already dead. Dead in my arms.

I gently pulled away, letting her body lean against the wall.

That's when I heard a guard cry out from across the open expanse. "By God, she's dead! She's dead!"

I looked down at my robes. I was literally bathed in her blood. It wasn't just on my clothes, either: It had soaked my hands, my neck, my boots, even my ear when she had leaned into me. I swallowed and forced myself to my feet.

Run, you selfish, selfish bastard, I thought. You must run. Back to Masyef, back to your daughter.

And as the rallying cries bore down upon me, I flew into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

That night, feverish dreams played in my subconscious.

I ran for hours and hours, until the guards' cries were miles behind me. But I wasn't running from them. I was running from Frances' face, twisted in hatred. But there is no running from an image that burns itself into your eye.

I ran until I collapsed. My vision blurred, and my limbs began to shake. I was dehydrated, I realized. I managed to pick my head up and see a slight outcropping on the nearby cliff face that appeared to sink back into the rock. Gathering my last bit of strength, I climbed to the outcropping and found a hole, just large enough for a man. It wasn't much, but it would shelter me from the wind.

I drank the last of the water I had on me with a gasp. And before I could finish huddling up against the wall, I passed out, my long hair falling in my face.

At first, the dreams were all the same: Frances' face transforming into Aless' face, back and forth, back and forth. Blood squirted from the figure's ears, nose, eyes, mouth, even out her pores. But through it all, her expression remained the same. She wanted to kill me.

The images shifted to just Aless, but she wasn't alone. Omran punching her, knocking her to the ground, raping her. All with me watching, crying out, but unable to do anything. I felt my leg kick the cliff wall as I struggled to free myself from some invisible force keeping me from her.

As my fever began to pass, the dreams began to soften. Suddenly, a new type of desperation rushed through my veins. It was the desperation of youth. And in front of me stood Aless: My first love, not my second.

"You must begin at the base of the tail, yes?" I heard a patient voice say to me. "Look, watch. Work out the knots from the bottom, and then work your way up."

Details began to sharpen as I was plunged into the scene, into my teenage body and anxious soul.

"This is woman's work!" I huffed back at her, throwing the comb. "And if the damned horses can't keep their own tails clean, then I say we shave them off."

"You may want to ride a disfigured donkey into battle, but not I," she retorted. "A well-toned, clean animal can be just as intimidating as a sword swing."

"I am above this work. And I am above you."

"Perhaps," she said gently. "But remember, it is not my choice to have you here, either. This may have been your assigned punishment, but it is quickly turning into mine, as well. You are disturbing the horses."

Suddenly, her eyes broke from mine, and she fell into the lowest submissive bow of the brotherhood: her fist planted on the ground, her chin tucked in. I looked up, and upon seeing Altaïr walking toward us, I immediately did the same.

I felt my excitement build in my throat. Was he coming to congratulate me on challenging Master Ahraib and to free me from this awful chore? Would he, at last, speak to me directly? I gave up trying to crane my eyes up to look at him and centered my gaze to the ground.

It was only then that I realized my hand was wrist-deep in horse shit.

But Altaïr did not even look at me. He bid us both to rise and gently tapped the young woman on the shoulder.

"Tell me, is he ready?"

"Yes, master, but I fear he still has that nasty bucking habit."

"I would have it no other way," he chided. "His spirit is too strong."

She rushed around the corner, and I heard the steady rhythm of horse hooves. When she came back in sight, she was leading a chestnut-colored stallion in full tack.

"Yes," he said, running his hand along his shoulder. "You've done well."

"After his injury, I had to be delicate in rebuilding him. But he healed completely, and I believe you will find him in the best condition of his life."

Altaïr laid his hand on her back and gave her a warm grin. "You have a gift."

"I only hope it is sufficient to serve the brotherhood, master."

He nodded to her and led the stallion out of the stable.

I rose and wiped my hand on some hay. "Why … why did he come here?"

"He is a horseman," she replied as she leaned over to pick up the comb I had thrown in the dirt. "He understands the importance of the bond between mount and warrior."

"Why that horse?"

"He is the master's favorite, a cross between our hot-bloods and the war monsters used by the Christians," she replied. "He has the best qualities of both breeds. But you do not have the eye to see these things."

I swallowed. "Please, will you teach me?"

"First unknot the mare's tail," she said, handing the comb back to me.

I obediently took the comb and lifted up the tail. "What is your name?"

"Aless."

My time at the stable became more and more frequent. Even after I had completed my punishment, I returned to the stable each morning before daybreak. The other students teased me for it at first, but they stopped when they realized they couldn't break my smug expression. I knew something they didn't: I knew that acquiring equestrian knowledge was a vital step toward becoming a well-rounded warrior.

I gained a number of personality traits during my first few weeks training under Aless: persistence, serenity, patience. I even grew to enjoy the tedious manual labor. It quieted my mind, allowed me to reflect.

The scene shifted. I was standing next to Aless, and she had her hand on a stallion's side.

"A warrior can learn much by just listening," she said. "Come here." I approached her and submitted to her touch as she guided my head against the horse's side. "Can you hear his stomach? School yourself in the sounds it makes. Soon, you will be able to judge your mount's overall health just by listening to these sounds."

I moved away from her. I grew desperate again. But this time, I wasn't desperate to prove my worth over her. This time, I wanted to prove my worth just to be close to her, maybe even to touch her. God, I wanted to touch her.

I kept my eyes to the ground, but I could feel her looking at me. "What is wrong, Kaim?"

"Nothing," I said, swallowing. "Nothing."

I rushed away from her and busied myself with a chore.

How stupid I am, to be all frenzied over some woman! I thought.

Even at that young age, I had experienced the touch of many. Growing up on the streets, seduction became another tool to survive. If bringing a woman -- or man, if I was desperate enough -- to a climax meant somewhere warm to sleep and something hot in my stomach, I did it. And when Ahraib brought me to Masyef, stories of my skill spread quickly, and I obliged many.

But Aless did not want me to bed her. In fact, she wanted nothing to do with me. She was content and satisfied with her place in life, as peaceful as the horses in early morning. I didn't understand it, but it made me want her more than I had ever wanted any other woman in my short life.

I found the courage to approach my master about it while he was enjoying his evening smoke on his hookah.

"Master," I said, bowing before him.

"Kaim, welcome," he said.

I joined him on his pillows, refused his pipe offer, and tried to gather my thoughts. "Master, I -- I need advice." I had never approached him in this way before, and I won't deny that I was nervous.

"Go on," he said, waving his hand.

"How does one find inner peace?" I asked abruptly.

He pulled the pipe out and tapped its stem carefully on his chin. "Hmm, well, I must confess, that is not the question I was expecting. And I'm afraid I do not have the answer. But why do you ask?"

"Because once I find it, then I think I'll be able to attain what it is I'm seeking."

He laughed at me, long and hard. "Oh, Kaim! No, no, no. Inner peace, it's about eliminating fruitless desires from your life, not adding new ones."

"It's not fruitless!" I huffed.

"Oh," he said, replacing the stem. "Really now?" He leaned in. "What's her name?"

I backed away. "How did you …"

"A young man as attractive and talented as you does not ask philosophical questions, at least not in public, unless it is for a remarkable woman. Now come. What is her name?"

"Aless," I said, defeated.

"I knew it," he said, not bothering to hide how satisfied he was with himself.

"What?"

"Well, yes. Why do you think I assigned you to the stables, hmm? It's true it was rude of you to challenge me to a spar in such a disrespectful manner. But truth be told, I was looking for an excuse to send you to the stables and learn from her. Although she is not gifted in ways most recognized by the brotherhood, she is truly special." He paused to grin at me, flashing his teeth. "You have good taste."

"But how do I approach her? How will I ever …"

"What? Tell her how you feel and all that nonsense?" He blew smoke at the ceiling as he pondered. "Well, be honest, my son. That is the only way. She can sense your pretense. Strip yourself of it and humble yourself before her." Ahraib studied me. "Can you do that?"

"I don't know," I confessed. "But I must try."

"Go now, while you still have the courage. And hurry, before I report you to the other masters for chasing women seeking the hood!"

I nodded in acquiescence, bowed to him and hurried out.

But I didn't go to her that night. Or the next night, or the night after. Instead, I continued my routine of slipping out my hut before sunrise, helping her with her chores and then rushing off to my normal training. I took my frustration out on the other students during sparring. Ahraib constantly berated me for my destructive behavior, calling me impatient and reckless.

A few weeks later, she approached me as I meticulously groomed Altaïr's stallion.

"I will be traveling to Acre," she said in her usual level just above a whisper. "Will you please occasionally check on the woman assigned to replace me during that time? I fear her knowledge is limited."

"Acre? So far? Why?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even.

"Warhorses have been acquired, and I am to pick the best of the stallions and bring them back here for breeding," she replied. "It's my duty."

"Aless," I said, fighting my simultaneous urges to both run away from her and to kiss her. "Aless, you can't go."

She turned her eyes to the ground, and her cheeks flushed. "Why?" she asked quietly. I realized we had instinctually turned our bodies to face each other. I wanted to step into her, but I was terrified that she would back away.

I don't deserve her, I thought. I'm chaos, I'm filthy, I shouldn't even be breathing so close to her, less I taint the air.

"I need you," I said. And this time, it was I who couldn't meet her gaze. "I need you. I've never met anyone so sure, so confident, so centered. Please, I know you'll never need me, too, but just let me need you."

"Kaim," she said slowly. I held my breath. "Kaim, you don't understand. I am none of these things. I am so simple."

"But there is beauty in that, don't you see?" I said. I couldn't resist it anymore; I wrapped my arms around her, pulled her close. She didn't move away, but she didn't respond to me, either. "Such beauty in you that you don't even realize." I touched her hair, and I realized my hand was trembling. "Please, please don't reject me. I don't know if I could take it if you rejected me."

She reached up and cupped her hand over my cheek. I shuddered. "But Kaim, we can't."

I pulled away from her. "God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I …"

"No," she said firmly. "No." And this time, it was she who approached me. "I do not reject you," she asserted, looking directly at me. "I do not know if I will ever need you, as you say you need me, but I do not reject you. But it is nearly sunrise. You will be expected at training soon, and I must finish these tasks and then be off to my own training."

"Let them try to find us," I dared, grabbing her arms. "I don't care. Come, I know where we can …"

"No," she said again. "If you wish to make me a woman, then let us allow proper time."

My eyes widened. "You're a …"

She nodded.

"Then yes," I said, touching her face, struggling to keep my fingers still. "Yes, tonight then. On the stable roof. Wait for the moonrise."

My subconscious ripped me through all of the anticipation, longing and anxiety that plagued me during those hours that I waited for nightfall. For a moment, I feared the dream would end there, leaving me aching for the touch of a woman long dead and rotted. But no, the dream shifted, and I was on the roof, taking her hand and helping her up.

I had never seen her at night. Actually, I had never seen her outside the stable before that moment. Her eyes burned cold with the starlight. I was struck motionless at the sight.

Should I speak? Should I just turn back? I wondered.

I was still trying to process that I was really there with her when she fell into my arms.

Her lips touched mine, and I eagerly responded. The kiss deepened, as did our contact. All of my hesitation was gone. Instead, I couldn't stop touching her: her back, her shoulders, her hair, her cheek.

If it had been any of the others, I would have grabbed her, pinned her to the roof and brought her to her peak by force. But this was different. I was not the dominant any more. Yes, I led the kisses and caresses, but I was constantly waiting for her to reject me and push me away. I would move my hand somewhere new and let it hover there for a moment before letting it fall on her. I didn't dare push my tongue into her mouth; instead, I pressed it gently against her lips, pulled away and only entered after she had opened her mouth wider to welcome me.

Part of me wasn't sure I would find the courage to take her. If it had been left to me alone, I might have been content just touching and kissing her. But it was she who first crawled her hand up my tunic, she who laid down on the roof, she who pulled me on top of her.

I was too timid to take off all of her clothes. Instead, I pushed down and pulled up only what was necessary without even looking at the exposed flesh.

I was her first. But in many ways, she was mine, as well. Never had I experienced a woman like this before. As I pressed into her, we both gasped. As the rhythm increased, the pleasure did not burst or erupt: It built slowly, but steadily, on a course as sure as the moon's.

"Keep breathing," I said.

She just nodded.

And when we came, we came together in a mass of sighs and clenched muscles and pinched off screams.

When we finished, I didn't want to let go of her, so I didn't. I stayed in her and wrapped her in an embrace.

The scene faded, and I was pulled out of my former self, becoming a spectator if my own past. I saw us there on the roof, night after night. Yes, we both gained courage. On our second time, we both took off our clothes, and I gradually began showing her some of my methods. But always we began with gentle, exploratory kisses, and always we finished together.

And then she left. The agony of not having her next to me on that first night slammed me anew, so hard that my sleeping body curled up into a fetal position.

Again the dream changed. She had returned, but much sooner than expected. I was overjoyed. I tried to hide my ecstasy until we could at last be alone.

"Aless, Aless, Aless," I said, covering her face in kisses. "Every night I've ached for you. And God has brought you back to me."

I could feel the dream fading. Aless' face was losing its shape. I struggled to hold onto it, onto her, but it was as fruitless as clutching water.

"Kaim, you don't understand," I heard her say. She pulled away from me and found my eyes.

"What?" I said, sensing her concern.

I knew what she was about to say. How could I ever forget? I wanted to hear her say it one more time. But her face was changing. Her features melded away and reformed. When it was over, it was no longer my first love's face, but my second's.

"Kaim, I'm pregnant," my daughter said.

And I woke up.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

I realize that this is Aless' story, not mine. I also realize that I have divulged much of my own story of late. However, I feel my story is also Aless' story; and Aless' story, my story.

If I hadn't lost my first Aless and our son, would I have taken that babe all those years ago? Never.

If I hadn't been raised in the streets, would I have fled to Damascus, back to the life I once knew? Of course not.

And if I hadn't gone away for six years, would my daughter be dead right now? I doubt it.

So I pray you will continue to forgive me as I relay the events that unfolded leading up to the reunion with my daughter.

I woke up from those dreams in a state of bewilderment. And at that moment, I was convinced that a message had been sent to me. But which was the real one? Surely not my daughter being pregnant. Too young, I thought.

Yes. Master Omran. Omran was the Templar spy among the eight masters and already had my daughter in his grasp.

I climbed out of the hole in the rock and began my journey anew. This time, I had a mission. I was going to find my daughter and then kill Omran.

Weeks of hard, persistent traveling went by. I used horses when I could find them and walked when I couldn't. I also picked up a crossbow and used it to catch small game when I wasn't close enough to a town to find nourishment. Every night, I reminded myself of my goal. Of course, I planned to verify my suspicions before ending Omran's life. But I could think of no other master capable of such treachery.

I reached the gates of Masyaf a full week faster than the journey had taken me in the past.

How should I enter? Should I hide myself in an entering wagon? Perhaps climb up the cliff face? I wondered.

But I chuckled at my own lack of self-awareness. I looked nothing like the man who had left Masyaf six years ago. I had abandoned my stained robes in a small hamlet miles and miles to the south and changed into common peasant's clothes. My hair had grown longer, too. I had it pulled back with a leather strap against the nape of my neck.

And I knew I looked older, so much older. Damascus had aged me. The night winds had cut creases at my eyes and mouth. And my eyes, once brimming with a father's pride, had gone dead.

The guards stopped me at the gates to the city.

"Who are you? State your business in Masyaf."

"Just a poor shepherd, returning home from selling the last of his flock," I said. As I glanced up at their faces, feigning fear, I recognized them as two of my former students who hadn't shown any promise. They must have failed the test for the hood and had been stationed here instead.

But they didn't recognize me. They just nodded and waved me through.

I noticed few changes as I walked freely among the peasants. The same ramshackle little huts, the same stench of animal dung, the same idle banter and merchant heckling. I searched as many faces of passersby as I dared. It was possible, after all, that Aless had failed to earn the hood and was now living a quiet life among the people.

In my heart of hearts, I knew this to be false. But I wanted it to be true, so I continued searching.

Eventually, my meandering led me to the guarded inner gates of the brotherhood. And nearby, I saw the students' shelters, just as they were when I called them home. I knew them to be empty now, the students engaged in their training. I sat on a rock a safe distance from the guards and pretended to pick at grass as I pondered my next step.

A distraction, I realized. Yes, I needed a distraction, one large enough that it would draw the guards away, cause chaos among the townspeople and even draw the curious eye of the few brothers and instructors meandering about just inside the inner gates.

An idea crept through my mind. I rose from the rock and again blended among the peasants. I would need a proper type of person. Thin, vacant eyes, I decided. Someone who doesn't look healthy in the first place.

I found my woman. She was crouched over a vegetable stand, pointing here and there and counting the scattering of monies in her hand. All she had, of that I was sure. Her lips were thin and pinned together, and her hips protruded against her robes.

I watched her pay for two tiny vegetables and rejoin the throng. And when she turned down an alley, I rushed up to her.

"What?" she managed to gasp as she dropped her vegetables and tried to cover her face, but she was too slow. My knife went to work on her, covering her face and exposed arms in tiny scratches until thin trails of blood formed in about ten different places. I leaned over and picked up a handful of mud and rubbed it into her skin in the same areas.

And then I backed away from her. She tried to cry out, but she couldn't. Instead, she stumbled back into the street, looking dazed. I also stepped out from the alley, but kept my distance from her as she struggled to regain her bearings. The people stopped and stared at this woman, now covered in bleeding, brown patches.

And then, I leaned over to the person closest to me and said one word.

"Plague."

"Plague," he repeated. It took a moment for him to register the weight of that word, but when he did, he used his voice to sound the alarm. "Plague! Plague!" he cried.

His voice was joined by many others. They backed away from her and pointed at her as I quietly slipped away.

What did they do to her? Stoned her, then burned her body, probably. I never said I had any morals, mind you. Yes, I regret it now, but as I walked through the unguarded gates of the inner fortress, it didn't cross my mind even once.

What I didn't know, as I triumphantly walked toward the main towers, was that my return had set off a vibration that was being felt by spies and enemies across Masyaf.

And I didn't know that my daughter was actually back the other way.

I learned later of everything that transpired that afternoon.

Aless had stayed in the women's quarters that day, just as she had for every day for the past two weeks. And just like every other day, Haytham, the grandson of Altaïr, ducked under the line of sight of his master long enough to visit her for a few moments.

But on that day, just as Haytham slid in through the window, Omran glided through the front door. The two exchanged a glance -- Omran amused, Haytham mortified -- before Haytham fell into a bow.

"Master," he said.

"Odd time for you to be in here, yes?" he said. "Or for you to be in here at all?"

Haytham did not respond. Aless had been sitting up in her bed with a guitar on her lap as both men entered. She set the instrument on the bed and watched them, but said nothing.

"Be gone," Omran finally said to Haytham. "I must speak with her."

Aless shook her head. "Whatever you have to say, it can be said in front of him, as well," she said.

"Bold words, especially from one in your state," Omran said, his voice thick with authority.

"But they are true words, all the same, master," she responded. Haytham rose from his bow and positioned himself at her right side, his hand resting on her shoulder.

Omran paused, and the lovers held their breath.

"Of course," Omran said. "Your marriage is looming, so it is only logical to consider you of one body now, yes?" His expression turned grave again. "Aless, I come to tell you that Kaim has returned to Masyaf."

Haytham's grip on Aless' shoulder tightened. Aless reached for his hand and held onto it.

"Returned? Why?" she asked.

"We do not know, but we know he has killed your brother," Omran said.

"What is this nonsense?"

"The man who called you father lied to you for ten years, Aless," Omran said. "You were not some starving, abandoned babe he happened upon and picked up. Your parents were his victims, and he stole you from them after he killed them. And he has completed a mission in which he was sent to kill your brother. He was supposed to return to Damascus after the deed was done, but he has been spotted here."

Haytham moved himself in front of Aless. "Why do you come here with these rumors? Do you wish to risk the life of my unborn child?"

"No, no, no, quite the contrary," Omran said, the cracks in his face bending in concern. "After all, we would not want to lose the first of a new generation to carry on Altaïr's bloodline, now would we? Instead, I bear this news as a warning. Damascus' bureau leader has sent us word that he worries for Kaim's sanity. And I have heard frightening whispers recently, Aless. I come only to ask you that you be moved into the inner courts, away from any danger."

"He is no threat to me, he's my father!" Aless exclaimed. "And how dare you come here and accuse him of these things! Be gone, you rat! I've long known the hatred you hold in your heart for him."

"Aless," Haytham pleaded. "No, stop."

"Take your villainous seeds and plant them elsewhere!" she spat, undeterred. "I will not have you poisoning my child this way."

Haytham kept his position, standing protectively in front of his lover, but he couldn't look at the master's sneer directly.

But Omran didn't move toward them. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down.

"Fine," he said. "Both of you -- no, all three of you -- die for all I care. The firstborn descendant of Altaïr should not be from one as tainted as you, anyway."

"I praise God for the differences between us, Omran," Aless said. "Both the color of our skin and the color of our hearts."

Omran's robe billowed as he dismissed the matter with a disgusted shake of his arm, and then he left.

The two stood in silence for a moment. When they were sure he was gone, Haytham let out a sigh and sat on the bed next to Aless, taking her hands in his.

"Aless," he said, searching her eyes. "That was foolish!"

"I don't care," she said. She pulled out of his grasp. "He will not disgrace my father any further, at least not in my presence."

"He could have you killed. His weight among the eight cannot be denied."

"They will not touch me, at least as long as I have this," she said, gently touching her stomach. "And if my father truly has returned, he shall protect me."

"What if what he says is true? About your family …"

She rose from the bed. Haytham tried to take her hand and pull her back down, but she shook him off. "It's not," she said.

Before he could stop her, Aless walked out the door and turned down a quiet path. Haytham quickly regained his position at her side.

"Aless, please, stop this. You shouldn't be …"

But Haytham's words were lost in his throat as figures leapt out of the shadows and corners and surrounded them.

I combed the inner towers, treading through those familiar halls again, and found nothing. I went undetected: There were a number of common laborers assigned to various tasks in the fortress, so the sight of someone not in formal robes was not rare. And I was careful to keep my head submissively low as I passed by instructors or brothers I once knew.

I exited the fortress and returned to the area where I first started. I pinned my body against the stone walls and groaned quietly in frustration.

I took one last look around the inner courtyard. And through the gates leading outside, I saw Omran leaving the women's quarters.

It was all the affirmation I needed.

I fought the urge to rush for him as I slowly meandered toward the gates. The guards didn't take a second glance at me as I exited. Omran was walking toward me, back toward the towers and his quarters, no doubt.

Keeping my head down, I caught my foot on his and tumbled into the dirt.

"Oh, master, so sorry!" I blustered as I pretended to try to regain my footing. "So sorry!"

"You halfwit!" he shot back, turning around to face me.

Balanced in a crouch, I stared him directly in the eye. His face blanched.

"Let me make it up to you! Please!" I said as I rose, standing in front of him. "Come to my humble home. Let me give you what little I have. Please, please!"

"Of course," he said, swallowing. "Yes, of course."

I fell in step behind him. "Back into the women's quarters, now," I growled in his ear after scanning for observers.

He didn't speak. Instead, he obediently walked through the blanket flap and turned around to face me.

I scanned the small structure. Empty.

I leapt upon him, my blade at his throat.

"Kaim, returned to us at last," he said, his tone rising with sarcasm.

"Where is she!" I demanded.

"Gone, probably," he replied casually. "She knows about you now, Kaim. I told her everything."

The swept my arm around and drove my knife into his back. I pulled it free, and his frame bent at a sharp angle and he fell to his knees.

"So you are the spy! What have your men done to her? Where have they taken her!"

"Spy?" he asked me, his eyes wide. He struggled to focus through the pain. "You think me a spy?"

"She's gone, by your doing!" I snarled. I kicked him in the back where a dark, wet spot was forming on his robes. He moaned and fell to his hands.

"No, no," he panted. "I told her the truth because I wanted to turn her against you before you were reunited! The love she has for you … too strong. She's stubborn, just like you. But a spy, I am not."

"Liar!" I said, plunging the blade through the backside of his neck.

He fell to the dirt floor, and all went silent.

I have killed a master, I realized. And it wouldn't take long for others to notice him missing.

I fled out the back entrance. At that moment, I saw Haytham -- the boy who first set everything in motion, all grown into a man -- sprinting toward me.

At first, I thought him rushing to attack me. But he wasn't slowing down. I looked in the direction he was coming from and saw at least eight hooded brothers chasing after him: in the street, on the roofs, in the alleys.

I tried to slide back into the women's quarters, hoping the chaos would give me a moment to escape. But as I came through the back door, a hooded brother caught in the chase looked in the front and saw Omran lying in a pool of his own blood.

The brother's eyes lit with recognition. "Kaim!" he shouted.

I bolted back out the door, almost crashing into Haytham. He looked at me, and I him, before we split in separate directions at the fastest we were able.

I saw the marketplace before me as citizens began to scatter. Trying to escape through there would only create more chaos and needless death, I realized. I saw a ladder to my right and scaled it.

A brother was at the top waiting for me, and I felt the wind of his scimitar by my left ear. But I rolled over the edge and onto the roof and kept in motion until I was out of his reach. The closest rooftop was on the other side of another street. Before I could think about it, I sprinted to the end of the roof and leaped, and the townspeople below shoved one another as they struggled to get away.

As I prepared to land, I realized my jump was too short. My upper body slammed into the corner of the rooftop and wall, and I gasped as I heard a sharp snap on my left side.

I gripped the ledge and scrambled my legs up just as a brother below fired off a crossbow bolt. It cut through my loose clothing and went out the other side.

With the small dwellings closer together, I could bound from one rooftop to the next, making my way for the gates of Masyaf. I could see out of the corner of my eye more and more brothers joining the chase.

"They have killed our brothers and a master!" I heard from below as I landed on the next rooftop.

In the distance, I could hear ringing metal. A fight had broken out somewhere. As I rounded a corner, I saw the source of the noise. Haytham had reached the gates leading outside of Masyaf, but he was pinned against the wall dividing Masyaf from the open territories.

Fighting with your long knives again, I thought. Let's see if you've improved.

I dove off of the final rooftop in the row with another roll. It was then I remembered the broken ribs. I hissed in pain and missed my landing, falling in a heap on the hard dirt.

I was quick to regain my feet, but my noisy entrance had alerted the brothers surrounding Haytham. The young man used the opportunity to find an opening and go sprinting outside the gates, toward the open road.

I pulled free my short sword in one hand, my long sword in the other, and solidified my balance. Young faces surrounded me, some of them I remembered as boys. Among the hooded, I also spotted one woman.

"My fight is not with you, brothers-in-arms," I said.

"You killed Omran!" shouted the youth who had first discovered me.

Realizing it was futile, I brought up my defense and waited for the first to approach me.

But I had been stupid, again: standing in the middle of open space, knowing someone with a crossbow lurked on the rooftops.

I felt the bolt lodge itself in my back, and before I could regain my balance, the students closed in on me.

* * *

AUTHOR NOTE 

So ... somebody suggested that I put a little "hi" to everybody at the end of my next chapter. Uhh, hi? XD Sorry you guys have to suffer through this mess o' mine. I realize its quasi fanfiction, but I'm also brand new here, so you can't be TOO mad at me for it, right?

But I'm also thinking about doing a companion one-shot on how Al fathered his kid, who in turn fathered one of my main characters. I dunno. Just a thought.

A wee bit about me: I like thunderstorms, vampires and Steak 'n Shake. And right now, writing is my release from crazy BS. Just on here to have fun and meet new people. Say hi sometime! XD


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

When I awoke, I didn't open my eyes immediately. I wanted to measure the situation as well as measure my own health before my captors realized I was conscious.

I took a deep breath, and pain erupted in two areas on my upper body. Three, maybe four broken ribs grated against one another inside of me. And the crossbow bolt wound gnashed its teeth into my muscles. I pulled my lips in as I fought off a groan.

The spot was painful, no doubt, but it was in the fleshy area of my upper back. I would be stiff, but probably would have no permanent damage. And it felt as if both wounds had been dressed.

The taste of blood lingered in my mouth. I licked my teeth, finding them all still intact, but the movement created a dull ache in my jaw. Had I been punched? Had the hilt of someone's weapon met my face?

But the worst of all these was the throbbing in my head. It pounded behind my eye sockets, threatening to smash its way straight through my cranium.

I had been propped up against what felt like a rock. I smelled dry, desert air and cooking food. And I heard a fire.

I opened my eyes, and Haytham was looking at me.

"Welcome back," he said.

My hands instinctively fell at their sides, and I found my weapons missing.

"Behind you," he said before I could ask.

I didn't turn around. I just studied him carefully, realizing that if he was willingly giving me my weapons, he meant no harm. At least, not at that moment.

He had the same piercing green eyes I remembered from the night I had fought him. His nearly-black hair was shoulder-length, but tied back. And he was well built. I was never capable of putting on much muscle mass; my strength came from speed, agility and flexibility. But I could see cuts in his arms. I suddenly remembered someone once telling me that his grandfather also was built this way. He was wearing the white robes of a brother, but his hood was down.

"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" he said.

"I figured you would tell me when you were ready."

He chuckled as he poked two fat grouse skewered over the fire with a stick. "I saved you, that's what happened."

I paused. "Why?"

"Because she would have hated me forever if I hadn't."

"Who?"

He just shook his head. "Maybe you should eat before we go through all of this, hmm?" He lifted the stick out of the flames and gingerly poked the birds. Satisfied, he reached for another stick already sharpened, slid one of the birds off of the cooking stick and speared it with the other. He handed it to me.

"Eat," he said.

"Strange to hear you giving me orders."

"Do you have much option?"

"No."

"Then eat."

I acknowledged his logic by toasting the bird before him and took a bite. As I chewed, I examined our surroundings. My weapons and other gear had been carefully placed in a pile behind me, as promised. And a horse had been tethered close by. Soaring cliff walls surrounded us on three sides. To the south, I saw a wide, vacant expanse of wild land. Haytham had tucked our camp in a valley that sank against one of the cliffs, making us invisible to the main road above us. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the cliffs cast longer shadows on our camp.

"We are about two days' ride from Masyaf," he said in response to my unformed question. "You blacked out when they punched you in the temple. I had to pull you out of the center of their fists on horseback."

"But why fists? Why not blades?" I asked.

He just shook his head. "I don't know. There is so much at work here, more than I can comprehend, I afraid."

I took another bite of grouse and then planted the stick in the dirt. I pulled my legs up against me and slowly got to my feet. The world swayed, but I managed to remain upright. "Your kindness, though bizarre, is appreciated. Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to Masyaf to find my daughter."

Haytham kept his attention centered on the bird as he took another nibble. "You won't find her there."

Rage exploded in my stomach, and I tried to leap over to him, but the earth beneath my feet turned to water. I fell back to the ground.

"You took one too many blows to the head, Kaim," Haytham said, setting his meal down. "For awhile, I was afraid you would never open your eyes again. Consider yourself lucky, but do not be foolish enough to underestimate your injuries."

I couldn't deny his words as more water filled my skull, sloshing back and forth before my eyes. "Just tell me what you know," I pleaded as my fingers gripped the sides of my skull.

"The woman you call daughter is the future mother of my child," he said evenly. Before I could interject, he held up a finger. "Just please, let me finish. Then ask your questions." He carefully relayed to me everything that happened between he, Aless and Omran. "I then followed her outside, telling her to return to her bed. But she was too incensed to listen. And that's when we were attacked by our brothers, fellow Assassins. Some of them were men I have known since I first arrived here." His face grew visually distraught. "It makes no sense."

"They are spies, Haytham," I said. "Spies of the Templars."

"So many?"

I just nodded. "But Omran … he was nowhere to be seen among them?"

"I saw no one holding authority beyond the brothers, no," he said. "You killed him, didn't you?"

I went silent.

"How do you know they are spies? Where did you obtain your information?"

"From the lips of Aless' dying sister, that's where."

His eyes narrowed. "So Omran's words were true. You did kill her parents and her brother."

"No, her sister," I corrected dryly. "There was never a brother."

The young man rose, he hand resting comfortably near the hilt of one of his knives. "And now you intend to finish what you started?"

I laughed at him, despite the throbbing in my skull. "Every breath I have drawn since I left this cursed land was taken just in hopes I would see her again. And yet you, who happened to slip your male spit into her crevice, dare to accuse me of bringing harm upon her?"

"Do not speak of her in such a way!"

"Did you give her drink? Or did you just rape her?" I asked darkly.

"I love her!" he exuded. "And she me! And yet for some cursed reason, she continues to love you." He stopped himself and took a deep breath. "And that is why I saved you: purely selfish reasons. Not only do I need your help rescuing her, but she would prefer you alive, I suppose."

"Where have they taken her?"

"It has been difficult tracking them. You are obnoxious cargo. In addition, we have two forces to contend with. While we follow the fleeing Templars who have Aless in their grasp, all of Masyaf is seeking us for our crimes." He swallowed, and his eyes went far away. "I killed my own comrades, one my own friend, as I tried to free her from them."

"Let go of the guilt, now," I said. "Or you won't save her."

"It is my fault that she cannot save herself," he lamented. "She is brilliant with almost every weapon. But the pregnancy is a difficult one. She should not even be out of bed. My child …"

"No," I commanded. "Focus only on your task. We track the Templars until we find an opportunity to strike. Then we rescue her. Beyond that, nothing matters. At least not yet."

"But what does it all mean? You asked of Omran … Do you think another of the eight remaining masters is a Templar? And what do they want with Aless?"

"She is precious to them, no doubt," I said as the pieces came together in my mind. "She is the lover of Altair's grandson and carries within her a descendant of Altair. Two persons of great worth to the Assassins, both in their grasp. You have made her a valuable prisoner, and an equally valuable bartering tool. They may use her and the babe to trade for the Piece of Eden."

"The what?"

"Nothing," I muttered. The headache had regathered its strength threefold. I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. "But if I am correct, they will be slow going. They would not risk the lives of their prizes."

"So we have some time."

"Some, yes," I responded. "So I will spend this night recovering. I briefly considered telling you to go on without me, but judging by your emotional outbursts, I would say you would be useless by yourself."

"I saved you!"

"Yes," I acknowledged. "But you have no care or love for me. However, when I mention Aless, all sense escapes you. That is dangerous."

"I would say the same about you."

"Careful, boy," I growled. "I still outrank you."

He just shook his head again. "Rank? Kaim, you and I are outcasts. Those who once bestowed a rank upon us now seek our heads, or at the very least want us in chains. We are equals now, you and I."

"We'll see about that soon enough."

We both went silent for a moment. I listened to the cracking of the fire and the whistling of the wind against the cliffs.

"You killed her parents?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Why?"

I sprawled out on the sands and laid my arm over my eyes. "How many people have you killed, Haytham?"

"Dozens."

"And why did you kill them?"

"It was my duty."

"There is your answer."

"So her parents were …"

"My targets, yes. My first official targets as a hooded brother, actually. You should know that Aless is not her real name. It is Bethanee, and I was supposed to take her life, as well."

"Why didn't you?"

I let the question be swept away by the night winds before I tried to form an answer. "A moment of weakness."

"That is all?" he said, his emotion rising again. "This woman I love … The only reason she now carries my child is because you couldn't …" He let his own thought trail off, too frightened by the implications.

"You're too young, Haytham, to have yet witnessed how one second, one breath of self indulgence can alter the lives of everyone around you forever."

The weight of my words was lost upon him. "Why did you leave her side for six years? She believed it because Omran forced it so, but I heard differently."

"You ask too many questions," I grumbled.

"I have the right to know!" he exclaimed. "So many nights she would say that she knew you would return to her some day. So many nights I tried to tell her there was no evidence, yet still she waited. It was her hope for you to see us married. She is to be my wife, did you know? And she longed for you to be there." I slid my arm up and watched Haytham angrily retie his hair. "The thought of a man who would abandon my love being at our wedding made me ill, but I never said anything. It isn't my place."

"No, it isn't."

"If you know so much, then answer the question. Why did you leave her?"

I moved my arm back down, idly hoping I could outwait him. But he didn't speak again.

"Regret," I finally said.

"That's it?" he asked.

"That's it."

"Then you are not a man."

I chuckled. "You're right, I'm not."

"And you don't care?"

"Quite the contrary. I berate myself for my own flaws and weaknesses every day. Yet I've learned there is little I can do to fix them."

"You are just a shell of a person!" he fired. "To say that a man cannot change himself … That is folly!"

"I won't engage in this discussion with someone who knows nothing about living."

"Knows nothing about living?" he repeated in awe. "Nothing? My parents are dead. My grandfather, this hero everyone worships, died when visiting me shortly after I was born because the Templars knew he couldn't stay away. And my love is a Christian. The only thing protecting us from further scrutiny is my lineage. Yet there are those who hate me for not choosing a lover of our race."

"Our race?" I asked him, moving my arm again to look into his green eyes.

"Yes, my blood is also diluted. But that was a choice made by my grandfather, so none speak of it to me."

"And Aless?" I dared.

"None say much directly to her because she is hot-tempered and a skilled fighter. But when she is out of earshot …"

"Enough," I said.

"Face reality, Kaim!" he challenged. "You were not there to protect her, so she became everyone's target. And if it wasn't for her raw skill and inner strength, she may have cracked under the constant scrutiny."

"Enough!" I shouted, sitting up. I watched wavering waves breach along the dunes, and the headache thrummed with renewed life.

"You are not a man," he reiterated.

"Yes," I said. "I'm not, but I don't care. Once she is safe, nothing else matters."

"What about afterward? Will you go back into hiding again?"

"Probably."

"Why?"

"Because I do not deserve her, you son of a whore," I said as I struggled back to my feet. "I never deserved her. Someone like you, yes, but not I. Are you pleased now? No more questions?" I turned and began walking.

"Where are you going?"

"To save my daughter."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

"Don't be a fool. You can barely stand. You'll just get yourself killed," he called after me.

"I don't care."

"Yes, but she will. So I can't let you go."

I turned back to face him. "Is that how this will play out then?"

He nodded grimly, one hand resting on each of the hilts of his long knives. "I won't let you die, strictly out of loyalty to Aless."

Even if I had been at full health, a one-on-one brawl against him would have been a difficult chore.

And there was the fact that I had left my weapons in a pile by the fire. That could also prove to be an obstacle in facing him.

All I could do was grin at my own foolishness.

Haytham followed my line of sight to the weapons and shrugged. "You can retrieve them, if you want. But I don't think they will do you much good in that state."

"No, no," I said dismissively, walking back to the fire. "If nothing else, I need another full night's rest." I reclaimed my spot, sprawling out on the sands. "Now if you'll excuse me."

I heard him sigh in frustration as I closed my eyes.

Let him think me asleep, I thought, and then I'll be on my way.

But my injuries had other plans. As soon as I fully reclined, thick, wet clouds of empty space enveloped me, and I cursed my weak body as I slipped away into unconsciousness once again.

When I managed to pull myself back out of the mist, it was morning. But there was no fire and no horse. The remains of last night's meal had been carefully placed close to me on a brushed off rock. Close by, words had been scratched into the sand.

_I won't let you die. Safety and peace._

Haytham was gone.

* * *

Author's Note:

Umm ... yeah. Wear a helmet, kids. (Or don't become an Assassin?) Head injuries suck. Personal experience.

And I probably won't be updating for a wee bit. Busy stuff at work and whatnot.

Say hi sometime. XD


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Once, when I was very young living in Damascus, I watched a small home burn to the ground. I remember smelling the smoke and hearing the screams. My parents, aroused from their slumber by the noise, wandered outside, and I followed. The smoke poured into the night air like a water urn in reverse. The air was thick with the smell of burnt hair.

I knew some of the people trapped inside. I had spent many an afternoon playing with the youngest daughter in the family.

The father was the first to scramble out of the house. I remember watching his soot-stained hands fall to the earth as he struggled to catch his breath. He called out to the strongest men among the bystanders, my father among them, and rallied them to go inside and start rescuing the people.

First came out the eldest son. Next, they brought out the second eldest son. Third among them was the mother. Each passing moment they spent in the house, the fire grew larger, angrier and hungrier.

Even at that age, I realized what was happening. The father was deciding who was the highest ranking member of the family, then the second, then the third. By the time the wife had been pulled free, it was too dangerous to reenter. A piercing wail knifed into my young ears as a beam fell inside. The father held onto the mother, who clawed at his arm and tried to break free of his grasp to save her daughter.

I knew that some of the elders in the family resided in the house. They made no noise as they died.

If the fire hadn't spread so rapidly, would the father continue saving the rest of the family? Or would he see the flames as a sign from God that it was time to weed out the weak in his brood?

I thought back to that night and the questions that it left implanted in my mind as I looked at Haytham's words scratched in the sand. How easy it would be to let the fires consume him. How simple it would be to spend another day or so resting. By the time I caught up to the fleeing Templars, the young man would surely be dead. He was skilled, yes, but even he had no chance against all of them by himself. And even worse, he was idealistic and hopeful. Those traits made him prone to stupid actions, I thought.

Then I remembered the mother's scream. She, no doubt, would have preferred -- no, insisted -- that her life be taken in exchange for her daughter's. And if Haytham's words were true, Aless may feel the same way about him.

I had to pull them both from the fire, I realized. I had to rescue them both. I couldn't put Aless through that much pain. I rose from my spot in the sand, strapped on my weapons and began walking, following Haytham's hoof prints.

How many times had Haytham made the conscious decision to pull me from the fire the last few days? I wondered as I trudged up a steep incline leading out of the sinkhole. How many times did he think about letting me die, and then realizing that he, too, couldn't bear to hear Aless' piercing scream of grief? He hauled me away from our pursuers and carried me for miles as he fled from them. And it wasn't out of love for me.

Judging by the hoof prints, he had only departed from the camp a few hours prior. He must have decided to take advantage of the few spare hours to rest and restore his body, and then he set out.

My body, on the other hand, still needed much more time to heal. I reached around and pulled off Haytham's makeshift bandage for my crossbow bolt wound, which was bleeding anew. As I reached, the wind left my lungs, having twisted my ribcage. I sighed and then reached for my jaw. My face was no longer sore, and I was walking steadily. However, I could feel the promise of a headache building behind my eyes. And I had woken up many times in the middle of the night to retch, and I knew it wasn't from Haytham's grouse.

I cursed God under my breath that all of my memories of the past few days had remained intact. Many brothers came home from missions with only scatterings and fragments of everything that happened after taking a blow to the head. I wasn't so lucky. (Though, I suppose, God had a reason for sparing my memories. Otherwise, how would I be telling you this story?)

I could see the shadow woman in the alley, beckoning to me. I could see the Damascus bureau leader, snickering at my pain. I could see Frances, spitting blood in my face as she died. I could see Haytham, caring for me with a clenched fist.

And I could see Omran, who died on his knees with a bitter smile on his lips.

As the morning sun warmed my face, I tried to calm my mind. My first love would have wanted me to do that. And as I took a few steadying breaths, all I could see was Omran reduced to the posture of an animal before he met his end.

That master -- who, through the dry years of living without the woman we both loved, had become my hated enemy -- died by my sword. His daughter, who was to be my wife, gave him a grandson. And then our most precious treasures, Aless and Jaim, died of something as random and pointless as plague. And then we turned against each other.

When my new treasure, my second love, was threatened, I blamed him first. And now he's dead, needlessly.

Aless, I thought, clenching my eyelids together. If your spirit lives on somewhere, and you can see me now, I'm sorry. You should have refused me all those years ago. But you didn't, and now all I can do is apologize, again. Because I have brought your father to your side much too soon.

I opened my eyes and suddenly remembered the words I had told Haytham the evening prior: "Focus only on your task." It was the only reason I had left to not join my son and my lover in the eternal stars. I had to save my daughter. Nothing else mattered. I forced the thoughts from my mind and centered on the grueling challenges that waited ahead of me.

Later that morning, I acquired a horse from an unsuspecting merchant as he resecured his wagon. I spurred the horse into a gallop. My heart rate increased with each hoof beat. For so many years, I thought she would never need me again, that I was just a dark smudge in her life that she should forget. But now she needed me. No, if Haytham wasn't lying, she had always needed me, and I had been too blind by my own self hatred to see it.

The self hatred didn't fade as I raced perpendicularly to a cliff face that soared above me. But I swallowed it. I swallowed it as I leaned into the horse's flanks, riding my heels up its side. After this was all over, yes, maybe then she will want nothing to do with me. And I could then just end all of this, finally. But now, I realized, I have a purpose in her life, a purpose I must fulfill.

I steered the horse down a steep incline, pitching my body back into the saddle to free my weight from its front end. It picked its way down the hill, one hoof at a time, and I watched rocks that had been shaken loose from the slope go tumbling into the grove of trees below. When we reached the bottom, the cliff behind me, I again brought the horse back to full speed.

I raced in and out between the trees, kicking with my left leg, then my right, then left again, bending the horse's body through twists and turns. I ducked away from an oncoming branch as I worked my legs back and forth. Rays of sunlight that managed to filter through the thick canopy hit my face now and then.

Haytham came this way a few hours ago, but not at this speed. But riding faster than Haytham ever would have dared was the only way I could ever pray to catch up to him in time. And after training brash youth like him for so many years, I knew I had very little time.

And as I wondered just how much time I truly had, a white-hooded body came flying through the trees straight at me.

I jerked on the left rein, causing the horse to spin, but it wasn't enough. The body barreled into mine, forcing forward its shoulder and wrapping its arms around me. The person's momentum knocked me from the saddle, and we both were sent airborne.

In those few seconds in the air, I tried to reach for a weapon. Something, anything in my grasp. But I was too disoriented to remember their locations, and my attacker and I bounced against the hard earth as we landed.

They are all around me, I knew. I didn't have to look. It is a warrior's sense, to be capable of sensing danger without actually perceiving it in a physical way. As I struggled to find my feet, my head pulsating from the concussion, I knew there were at least ten of them. My attacker had bounded back up, having rolled over my flailing limbs and landed in a square crouch.

Agile bastard, I thought. You're no Templar.

I managed to get my hands on my sword hilts as my vision stubbornly remained blurry. My ribs gnawed into my side as I struggled to draw breath.

An arrow whizzed by my ear and imbedded itself in a tree behind me.

Opportunist, dishonorable bastards, I thought again as I slid back a few steps into the cover of the trees. You're no Templars.

They were Assassins, my brothers. They had been tracking me for miles, no doubt, and I had made the task easy for them. Haytham's hoof prints told them exactly where I was going, so they set a trap for me in the trees. And I had fallen right into it.

My attacker rushed at me, and I just barely managed to put up a defense, my long sword crossed in front of my chest.

"Kaim," the hooded brother said in greeting as I heard the other warriors leaping in between the tree limbs, closing in on us. I recognized him: He was one of my rooftop pursuers in Masyaf. "It is time to die, I'm afraid."

"Not yet, brother," I replied, forcing all of my strength into my sword arm and shoving him. He only fell back a step, but with his sword away from me, I could pull free my short sword. "And come now, stop with the dramatics," I said as I looped my wrist around, bringing both of my blades up in front of me. "It's overdone, yes?"

"A two-weapon fighter?" he asked as he regained his stance. "Sloppy." I watched the other white ghosts materialize around him. But they weren't just in front. They were behind me, to the left and right of me, even one above me.

"We'll see, boy," I said, taunting him in with my short sword.

One in the rear of me took a testing jab at my back thigh, but I was quick to drop my right hip and slide my leg in underneath me while still keeping my eyes on the leader.

"Blades now?" I asked. "Not fists like before?"

"Change of orders," the captain said with disdain. "If it had been my choice, you would have died in the streets of Masyaf!" His sword came down again, and I leaped away -- right in the arm range of another fighter to my left, who brought his own scimitar slicing through the air, knocking leaves loose from above.

But the swing was sloppy and slow, and I curled my arms up against me, holding the blades pointed to the ground, and sidestepped into his stance. Before he could back away, I snapped up the hilt of my short sword and smashed the handle into the boy's nose.

His body curled in on itself in pain and shock, and he stumbled backward to get away from me. I dared to turn my back from my other attackers just long enough to slide my long sword underneath him and then bring it up, slicing it horizontally along his abdomen. He fell into the soft foliage with a moan. I spun on my heels again so my back was facing the boy's prone form, stepping over him as he thrashed in the dirt, his hands trying to hold in his entrails.

I had created an opening; I was no longer surrounded. I backed up another few cautious steps, and the eight surrounding me mimicked my movements in perfect silence. I watched the archer in the trees leap down from a branch and notch an arrow.

I struggled to pull in a deep breath, but couldn't. The pain in my ribs wouldn't allow it. And my sudden movements had created ripples in my vision.

On instinct alone, I fell low to the ground just as an arrow went sailing over me. Another brother took advantage of my prone position and rushed me from the front. I held the short sword protectively across my chest as I held the long sword vertically. As he ducked in to slice at me, I leaped up, my blade piercing through the flesh between his neck and chin. His lips parted, and I could see my blade imbedded in the roof of his mouth. Before I could pull it free, I sensed a third rushing in. Growling in frustration, I kicked the man away just as a fountain of blood that had pooled in his cheeks cascaded down his chin.

I kept my body low and kept my short sword close. The third man tried to come in from behind and snake his arm around me, plunging his blade into my midsection. But I snapped up my elbow, causing him to gasp, and I then changed the grip on my blade just in time to plunge it into his back. I pulled it out and danced away before he could fall on top of me.

I regained my upright position and shook the blood off my short sword. The circle tightened; the Assassins stepped over their dying comrades in pursuit of me.

"You are a murderer, Kaim," the archer said as she pulled free another arrow.

"No, I just want my daughter."

"Omran was my instructor!" she cried out bitterly. "And now you've killed my lover!"

Which one, I thought cynically as I glanced at the three white-robed forms now decorating the forest floor with deep red splashes. I leaped behind a tree just as she let another arrow fly. For a moment, my back faced the open wood.

I had no intentions of killing them all. They were innocents, all of them. They were not the spies, but children loyal to the brotherhood sent after me. And even if I did want to kill them all, the buzzing in my ears and the increasing shortness in my breath told me it wasn't possible.

So I turned and fled, seeking refuge in the trees.

"Not again, Kaim!" I heard the captain call after me. "I will not be disgraced a second time!"

"Tend to our brothers!" I called after him. But they didn't listen; I could hear them following. I had to get away.

This is going to hurt, I thought as I jumped up and wrapped my body around a branch. And God, yes, it hurt. I bit through my lip as my rib pain stole my orientation from me. But I fought through it and managed to lift myself onto the branch. With the grace and fluidity of mist, I began leaping from tree to tree. I used only my right arm, the opposite arm of my broken ribs, to catch branches as I moved. As soon as my feet found a sure footing, I propelled myself to the next closest limb.

The others fell behind, but the captain chased after me along the forest floor. He was a gifted runner, so gifted that it took him no time to sprint ahead of my path in the trees. Then he, too, bounded into the trees. And I couldn't stop my own forward motion as he squared himself right in front of me.

He leaped, once again trying to wrap his arms around me. But this time I was ready for him. I twisted my body and kicked my leg up, sending him off course.

My maneuver had, naturally, sent me off course, as well. I collided into a tangle of tree branches and bounced off a tree trunk. My arms flailed in the open air until I landed on the forest floor.

Again, I heard a sickening crack. My arm this time? I wondered. It was hard to tell. Everything hurt, and everything moved. Even the dirt seemed to crest with waves.

I found my feet, somehow. The others were nowhere to be seen, but I could hear them approaching fast. I saw the captain, who had also fallen in a less than flattering way.

I staggered over to him and turned his body over. His teeth were broken inside his mouth, and his nose was skewed at an unnatural angle.

"Who gave you your orders, boy," I managed to hiss out.

"Master Ahraib," he said, smiling, before he passed out.

* * *

Author Note: 

Thanks again for the reviews! I'm always thrilled to receive constructive criticism ...

... Except for stuff giving me crap because Al isn't one of my main characters. I'm well aware of that already. XD He may take center stage in a later companion piece. But I want to feel like I have something unique to say about Al before I pursue that, you know what I mean? I think I'm getting there ... but I want to let Kaim finish his story first. He's a demanding guy. XD


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

I like to pretend that I went down fighting. You know, forcing them to pull my sword from my fingers, even after I had succumbed to their attacks? Or maybe I spat in the faces as they approached me to deliver the final blow. Something poetic, something brave.

But truth be told, I have no idea what happened after that. I have no recollection of it. Chances are I just fainted, falling in a heap next to the captain after he said that name.

The next thing I remember is listening to the brothers debate my fate.

"Just leave him here!" the woman shouted. The archer, no doubt. "Master Ahraib will never know."

"Sister, you must follow your orders, even if they do not make sense to you at the time," a male voice responded. "You assume Ahraib wants him alive for personal reasons, but I have heard whisperings of different motivations."

"I cannot bear to carry him with us, to tend to him! I'll cut his throat in his sleep!"

"And Captain Zarif!" another man cut in. "One of us must bring him back. He'll die if we don't."

"And what of Haytham? Or his lover?" the rational one shot back. "Would you truly return to the gates of Masyaf just with Kaim alone?" He paused, and no one responded. "Good, then we are in agreement. Sister, I charge you with the task of riding back to Masyaf with our captain. Deliver an update and …"

"I won't leave you," she blurted.

"You must," he implored. "You must tell them to send reinforcements. And Zarif has no chance at life if you do not ride as fast as you can for home."

"What of him?" she asked with disgust.

"We'll take him with us, and then seek out Haytham and his lover."

"My brothers," she said. I heard her swallow as she struggled to speak. "Safety and peace."

"We are sorry for your loss, sister," another said. I heard the sound of a kiss, an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "God be with you."

They went silent for a moment, and I heard the shuffling of garments and a low moan of pain as Zarif was slung over the saddle. The woman mounted.

"Is he secure?"

"Yes," the woman responded. "I will not let him die."

Before any could respond, she kicked the horse into a trot and began weaving through the trees, back toward Masyaf.

I was somewhat aware of the fact that I, too, was being lifted up and tied onto someone's saddle. My left arm was jarred with the movement, and out of my throat came a noise I didn't even register as my own.

I felt someone mount the horse behind me. "Oh my, I do believe he hurts," said the rider, who had calmed the archer just moments before. "I don't know if you can hear me, but do not mistake my words to the woman as kindness. I want you dead as badly as her." Sparks flew before my vision as the rider punched me in the left side, on my broken ribs. I retched, but nothing came out. "But I know when to follow orders."

The brothers goaded their horses into a trot. The pain didn't lessen; instead, it increased with each bounce of the horse's stride.

I'm going to die, I thought. And with me, my daughter and Haytham.

For a moment, I thought I had died. Because I was standing next to my first love, Aless, and we were both looking down on our son, wrapped in blankets and sleeping peacefully.

When the body is at its weakest, the mind retreats to the safest places it knows. And standing there with Aless and Jaim a few weeks after our son's birth is my safest memory. So that is where my mind stubbornly stayed as the Assassins raced after the Templars.

He looked so perfect.

"Jaim," I said, my voice filled with awe. "That's … that's my son."

"Yes," Aless said, clutching my hand.

"And you're OK?" I asked her, but my eyes were still on the babe. How had she brought this tiny, breathing manifestation of our love into the plane of reality? None of it made sense, especially then, when I myself was still so much a child. I had no words to describe my awe.

"Of course," she said quietly. "But, you shouldn't have came."

Only a few minutes earlier, I had tumbled through the window of a tiny peasant's cottage, and my lover looked less than elated to see me. It was night, the time after the moon has reached its highest point in the sky, but the time before the sun has given the world any hope of ever returning.

Aless, as I've mentioned, had been forced to leave the inner gates of the brotherhood shortly after she announced to me her pregnancy. During her travels to Acre, the Templars had learned of her lineage: She was the daughter of a master, Omran.

This made her too tempting a target, especially during such a vulnerable time as pregnancy, I was told. So my love was taken from me and hidden away among the peasants. I was forced to stay in the inner courts and train.

I learned of my son's birth the same day I earned the hood. Omran performed the ceremony: pulling the hood over my head, kissing my forehead and reciting the oath to me.

When he finished, he clapped me on the shoulder.

"Kaim, my daughter has given you a son, and me a grandson," he said.

He must have seen the instant desperation in my eyes.

"No," he said. "Do not go to her. You will risk everything. In a few months, they will be brought back to us. But for now, they must remain in hiding."

"Yes, master," I said. This, of course, actually meant, "No, master, I'm sneaking away and seeing her as soon as I'm able."

"Don't you want to know his name? He is to be called Jaim."

How dull to have father and son names that sound so similar, I thought. It must have shown on my face.

Yes, I am an Assassin, but I'm a poor bluffer. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.

"Jaim was the name of my father," he explained. "It is a fitting name."

"Yes, master," I said. But I was hardly listening; I was already plotting my visit to the village.

I didn't find the opportunity to take that visit until a few agonizing weeks later. When I finally arrived at Aless' side, I couldn't understand why she was so concerned.

"Shouldn't have came?" I repeated in astonishment. "Did you expect me to stay away?"

She didn't answer. She, of course, was more mature than I. I wanted nothing more than the instant gratification of seeing them, while she was worried about the long-term survival of our new family. But she must of known that even if she tried to explain it, I wouldn't have listened.

Instead, she just studied me, standing before her in my new, white robes.

"You are a brother now."

"Yes," I said absently as I stared at the babe.

"And what are your feelings on it?"

"Feelings on it?"

"Yes, are you proud?"

"No," I said before I could think about my answer.

"No? Why not?"

"Because," I replied, gaining courage the more I thought it through. "Because this -- my family with you and Jaim -- is all that matters to me now."

"That might be blasphemy," she observed in a whisper.

"I might not care."

Silence filled the space between us. Jaim sighed.

I suddenly became very conscious of the fact that I was standing next to my future wife, and we had not experienced each other in months. The realization blasted through my body like a hot wind. Instantly, I became aware of her beauty: her hair, her hips and her wise expression.

She sensed the change in me. She turned away from the babe and looked up at me.

"Would you like to hold him?" she asked, but she already knew my answer.

"Don't wake him," I said, my eyes pleading. "Not yet."

She smiled at me and nodded. "Not yet."

And then we fell together, literally. I rushed her and let my knees give out until I was kneeling before her. She went down into a crouch and then bent her arm around to catch herself. But before we could even lay on the ground completely, we pressed our bodies together. I buried my nose into her neck, her breasts pressed against me, as I struggled to unlatch my hilt from my hip.

"Too long," she moaned as she balanced with one arm on the ground, the other around my neck, and her entire body arched up into mine. Her nimble fingers undid the latch for me, and my sword fell to the ground. She pushed my hood off my face, and the symbolism of the gesture was not lost on me.

"Yes," I said. My mouth went to work on her neck, calling up little noises from her throat, as my hand frantically clutched at her robes, pulling them up, up, up. "Only you, only you."

I didn't care that I wasn't making sense, and I doubt she did, either.

She finally let her rear hit the floor, and I took my place upon her. It was all so familiar, the way our bodies responded to each other. Yet I ached for her just like I had our first night on the stable roof.

I wouldn't wait. Physically, I couldn't for much longer anyway, even if I wanted to. And she couldn't either, judging by the way she forcefully tugged my robes over my head.

Let me be clear: There was nothing slow or nothing gentle about any of this. We had a need, a need that could only be met by our joining.

It wasn't until after we had finished that I realized we had never even made it to her sleeping area. I stood and pulled up my breeches. "Sorry," I said, helping her up with a shrug.

She shook the dirt out of her robes and slipped the innermost layer back over her head. "It's not too late," she said as she curled up in the circle of straw, pillows and blankets. I was quick to join her and invited her head on my chest.

We laid there, basking in our satisfaction. I'll take her again, I thought dreamily, in just a little while, as soon as I catch my breath. And I will pay proper homage to her and her body this time, I decided.

But no, I realized, that's not possible. How much longer did I have before they noticed me missing? I glanced out the window. I saw nothing but the same blackness that had surrounded during my frantic journey to her side, but I knew that to be a lie. Time was passing. Every second I laid there with her, I further risked discovery. Master Ahraib knew of my plans, but even he couldn't lie for me for long.

I looked at the white robes, now just a harmless heap on the dirt floor. In a rush of passion characteristic of youth, I dreamed of throwing them in the fire or ripping them to shreds with my knife.

"I would leave the brotherhood if it meant your safety, Aless," I said suddenly.

She pulled away from me and propped her body up, finding my eyes. "Don't say such things!"

"You were exposed once. How do we know it won't happen again? All I've ever wanted is a life with you, with our son. Let's leave, together, tonight."

"What you want doesn't matter now," she said, leaving no room for question in her voice. "From now on, we focus only on the needs of our son." She placed her hand along my jaw line. "Can you understand that for me?"

"What I want and what my son needs are one in the same!" I declared.

"Hush," she said, her eyes traveling to the babe. "Or you'll wake him." She watched me for a moment, waiting for me to return to calm. It was always like that with us: She seemed to walk on air with her centered perspective of things, but I could never find the self control to stop myself from becoming lost in the skies, a bird always forced to flap.

I wasn't quite ready to give in just yet, to float on the wind currents next to her. "What if I miss something? What if he walks or talks or …"

"I don't think any of that will happen too terribly soon," she said gently.

"How do you know?" I was clutching at anything I could find.

"There is a pattern to these things, Kaim."

I relaxed, finally giving in to her logic. She laid on my chest again. "Do you know now why we can't take such risks?" she asked.

"If we leave, we will always be running, cheating death," I said.

"Yes."

"And we will never have peace."

"Yes."

"And that is not the life I want for my son."

She nodded. "But Kaim, please understand." She wrapped her fingers in mine. "If there ever came a time where that was the only option left …"

"… We will take it," I finished for her. I sighed. "I feel so helpless."

"It is a common sentiment of parenthood, so I'm told. To never feel adequate."

"Do you feel that way?"

She paused. "Always," she said, her voice thick with longing. Before I could protest, she slipped away from me. "Come, you must hold him, while you still have time."

"No, please, don't go."

"Do not rub sand into this fresh wound of mine," she said as she reached for him. "I must already part from you all over again, just after convincing myself that I could wait a few more months." She extended the sleeping child before me. "Take him."

I stood there, shirtless. But I had never felt more naked or weak in my entire life. "How?"

As always, she didn't judge. Instead, she took my arms and moved them into the proper position and laid the babe in my arms.

I won't try to describe it. If you're a parent, you know what I felt. If you're not, I pray that some day you will understand. But it was all so tainted, so bitter, because I knew I couldn't stay there. Aless watched me hold him for a moment, but then she closed the distance between us and carefully laid her hand on my shoulder.

"You must go," she said. "Before you can't find the strength."

I couldn't deny the wisdom in her words, but I couldn't give him back, even though I knew that I had to. "Take him," I said.

She lifted him out of my arms and leaned in, planting a chaste kiss on my cheek. She knew better than to try to find words. Nothing she could have said would have made it any easier.

I turned from her, threw my white robe back over my body and restrapped my weapons. Without allowing myself even one more glance, I leapt back out the window.

If I had known then that I would never see them again after that night, I probably would have looked.

A few weeks later, as I casually sparred in the training ring, Omran came rushing at me. He leapt over the small fence and grabbed me by the collar. I forced my body to stay prone. If I were to strike back, it could have meant death.

"It's your fault!" he cried as he shook me. As his lips moved, spit flew out from between his yellow teeth. "We all saw you creep away. And now you've brought death upon them!"

"Who?" I asked, daring to pull away from him. Accusing an assassin of killing something is slightly ironic, after all.

"Who, he asks! He asks me who." He reared his hand back and slapped me on the cheek, putting behind it all the force his aging body could muster. I held my ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching me lose my stance. "My daughter, my grandson! Dead!"

The slap hadn't caused me to stagger, but those words did. "What?"

"You brought plague into their house! You carried it with you! And now they're dead!"

"What?" was all I could say. Omran grabbed my robes again and punched me on the cheekbone, and I let him. I tumbled into the sand, letting my hands sink below its surface.

From somewhere, I heard Ahraib's voice.

"Omran, stop, stop!" Ahraib grabbed Omran's arm. "Stop this."

"He's killed them!"

"Don't be a fool, brother," Ahraib said, pulling Omran away from me. "You know that anyone, anything could have brought the sickness to them."

"His blood! I'll have his blood for this!" Omran decreed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stumble back out of the arena.

"Kaim," Ahraib said, crumbling next to me in the sand. "I didn't want you to hear of it this way."

A crowd was gathering. I couldn't look up, but I could see their shadows in the midday sun.

"Come, to my quarters. Please, my son," he said.

I didn't respond. I just had to get away from their sympathy. I fled out of the arena and down to the stables. I found a stall, curled up in its empty corner, and allowed myself to do something I had never done before, and thought would never do again.

I cried.

I didn't emerge for hours and hours. And when I did, I stayed away from anyone who would comfort me. I wasn't ready for that, not yet.

Enough, I thought, as I forced my mind back out of the memory. My physical pain is nothing compared to feeling my young heart break all over again. If my first love taught me anything, it's that what a man wants to do and what he needs to do are often drastically different.

And I needed to focus on saving my daughter and Haytham. I pulled myself back into consciousness and braced for the waves and waves of pain.

If I had then known the truth of how my bride and child died, or why the Assassins needed me alive, I might have stayed locked away in my mind forever.

* * *

Author's Note:

Not sure if anybody cares, but here's my policy on sex scenes. I don't do them unless I feel that I have to for characterization purposes. And even then, I try to keep them as brief and mild as possible. Why? Well, I know they divide people. Some people are on this site to read nothing BUT sex scenes, while others find them kinda offensive. So if you fall on either side of that fence, I'm sorry, but I felt that all three of the scenes thus far have been important to explaining who Kaim is/was.

My husband is crabbing at me because this chapter is too soap opera-ish. He wants me to write gore again.

Next chapter. I promise. XD


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Freeing myself only took a well-placed swipe with a blade. I regained consciousness and opened my eyes. And right in my direct line of sight was a knife, tucked away in a sheath tied around the rider's calf.

Luck, fate, whatever you'd like to call it, it was an opportunity. And this viper took advantage of it.

I plucked the knife out, rotated my grip on it with a dexterous flip of my fingers and, before the rider even realized I had stirred, cut through the ropes holding me in place and sliced the blade through the saddle's girth.

The saddle immediately began to pitch to the side, and the rider jerked back on the reins. The remaining four horsemen passed by us in a blur. My stomach still on the horse's back and my head facing the ground, I could see the horse's legs cut through the sands as it struggled to obey its rider. The horse bucked once, and the saddle went tumbling off of its back and into the sand. And with it, the rider.

I, however, twisted my midsection, grabbed onto the horse's mane and hoisted my leg over. I pulled myself upright, biting fresh blood from my lip as I straightened my ribcage.

Before the horse could buck again, I snatched the reins with my right arm and pinned my heels into the horse's sides. It backed up a few steps, but I leaned my weight forward. I dropped the reins from my right hand, just long enough to slap the horse on the flank, and then snatched them back up just as the horse took off.

I glanced back and saw the rider, still struggling to untangle himself from the saddle stirrups.

But then I had to turn around to refocus on keeping my balance. Riding bareback was nothing new, but I couldn't find my center. A real horseman, one who knows what he's doing, knows that maintaining a center of balance, which has its root in a firm seat, is everything. And my body was too broken to keep myself very steady.

If I fall off, Aless would never forgive me, I thought, cracking the first grin of the day.

The remaining four Assassins had jerked their own horses around and were riding straight for me, their swords high and their bodies perched up in the saddle. Both of my sword scabbards, of course, were empty. The long sword was probably still pinned through the jaw of a dead body back in the wood, and my curved, shorter blade must have been lost somehow during my tumble from the trees.

All I had was that tiny knife I had pulled from the rider's boot. It was useless in traditional mounted combat, which required weapons with a longer reach to make up the distance.

Even though I had no blade, I still had a weapon: my riding skill.

Two of the riders came barreling at me, one holding a sword in their left, the other one in their right. They thought they were blocking off my escape routes. But no, this would be easy. My left side completely useless, I knew I had to go for the Assassin coming at me on my right.

They drew closer and closer, until I could see the stains on their white robes, their expressions in the shadows of their hoods. It was then that I threw the knife with precision that only comes from years and years of training into the right horse's chest. The horse's front end immediately began to crumble, and the rider, startled, lowered his blade.

It was all the movement I needed. Clutching the mane with my right hand, the reins looped around my pinky, I leaned over and swiped the sword from his weak grasp with my left arm as we flashed by each other. The rider on my left side took a desperate swing, but I was leaned too far to the right for it to come even close.

I righted myself with my good arm. For a moment -- a terrible, terrible moment, the type of moment that steals all rational thought from you, takes the breath from your lungs and fills them instead with the cold, cold ice of helplessness -- I couldn't see. I had been forced to grab the sword with my left arm, and the pain was so intense, and my body was so weak, bursts of color blinded me. But the moment passed, and I took the sword from my left hand and put it in my right.

I knew I couldn't risk using that arm again. Perhaps if the arm were my only ailment, I could have managed through. But I don't think it necessary to again explain my condition.

The horse under me was athletic and supple. But would it respond to leg commands? I realized the question was irrelevant: Either it would, or it wouldn't. And if it wouldn't, I was probably dead.

I let the blade hang over the horse's right shoulder and put pressure on the horse's side with my left leg, which was back more on the horse's midsection. At the same time, my right leg slid up and kicked the right shoulder. It was the same command Aless used to teach the horse's for a left turn. And it worked. I silently thanked that dirty little stable boy, wherever he was, and brought my mount back to full speed.

The remaining three suddenly became more cautious. I must have looked insane: riding bareback and with no reins, in peasant's clothes, my hair untied and blood pouring down my chin from my lip and down back from the bolt wound.

The trio formed a tight "V" shape, with one on either side, and another leading the formation in the front. Smart, I thought. They know that stopping suddenly is nearly impossible when just using leg commands. Do I drop the sword and grab the reins, or do I barrel in?

The answer should be obvious. I leaned forward and kicked the horse on.

Once again, we closed the distance between one another. For this to work, I had to get as close as possible. I could see the sand flying up from their mount's hooves, but I waited. I could see the sun glinting off their polished blades, but still I waited. It was only when I could hear the rhythmic heaving of their horses' breath that I swung both of my legs back, my sword hand leaning on the horse's withers, and leaped off of the horse's left side.

My body spun in the air, and I fell into a crouch, the sword still wrapped in my fingers. Galloping right on top of me was the rider on the left side of the shape. I didn't move: Instead, I just leveled my blade and let the horse run right into it.

The beast put all of its weight into its front legs in a useless attempt to turn away, to stop its own momentum. But I let the blade slice in as far as it would go, until nothing but the hilt was buried in its flesh, before I leaped out of the way.

I watched all three horsemen once again ride past me. But now I was on the ground, no weapon and no horse. And even though I was on the ground, part of my mind was still lodged in the air. I blinked a few times, trying to refocus my vision and regain my balance.

The riders on the left and center positions turned around just as the horse on the right collapsed in the sand on its right side. Its rider was pinned, his right leg stuck between the ground and the horse's dead body.

As the two assassins let out war cries and charged at me, leaving little space in between them. I raced across the sands toward the dead mount and pinned rider. But I wasn't interested in them. I wanted the rider's sword, which had fallen from his grasp as the horse went down.

I picked it up and found my stance just as the two riders prepared to swing at me from their saddles. As they leveled their swords, it appeared that I was preparing to meet them head on. But instead, I jumped to my left and twisted my body until my back was facing the horseman on the right. I was so close to him, I could feel the fabric of his robes flap against my neck. That rider's sword swing went wide, having not compensated for my sudden movement, as I swiped with my own sword at the rider on the left. The youth tried to put up a defense, but I was too low for him to block, and it all happened too fast for him to follow. My blade cut deeply into his calf.

He let out a curse as they both flew past me, and I turned my body to face them.

"Enough, enough, enough," he shouted at me, kicking his injured leg free from the stirrup. "Enough."

The only remaining rider also reined in his horse. I watched him share a glance with his comrade, and after a moment of terse whispering, the rider nodded.

The wounded boy gently dismounted, landing on his left leg, and then began hobbling over to me. The other rider also dismounted and put his arm around his comrade, helping him over to me. The other three riders also began making their way over from various points across the wide expanse. The rider who had fallen off with his saddle appeared unscathed. The one who had been pinned under his mount had a severe limp, and I could see the grief etched on his face as he turned away from his horse, which was lying still. I could also see the horse I had thrown my knife into. It, too, was lying still, its legs splayed out. Its rider must have ended his misery.

I lowered my blade slightly as they all approached me and formed a loose circle. They were holding their weapons, but they were pointed down.

"Shall we fight on the ground now?" I asked quietly.

"No, no," said the youth who had went down with his saddle. Again, I recognized him as the one who had convinced the archer to leave.

"Are you the leader?" I asked.

He looked around at the others, who each nodded . "I am the highest ranking, so yes. Now that Captain Zarif is gone. I am Ghazi."

"I don't care about your name," I said. "I just want to know what you want."

He glanced around at his comrades, one of which was still leaning on his friend. Many of the others were still struggling to catch their breath. He swallowed. "A truce."

"Be specific, boy," I grumbled, trying my best to hide my elation. If only they knew that I had been just seconds from collapsing from my injuries, I thought. "What are the terms of this truce?"

"I'm not sure," he said as he looked to his brothers.

"We'll help him rescue his daughter," one of them offered.

Ghazi pondered this suggestion for a moment, and then centered his attention back on me. "We shall let you and your adopted daughter go free, but Haytham is ours."

"Altaïr's bloodline," I realized.

The leader nodded. "The babe your daughter carries is probably dead by now. And if it's not, then we can tell our superiors that it is so."

"You would lie to a master?" one asked incredulously.

"Yes, I would," he replied coldly. "If it means no more death, I would."

"And what of my crimes?" I asked dubiously.

He paused. "It is true that we pursue you so that we may put you on trial for the death of Omran. And Haytham, for the death of our brothers. But, Haytham is also desired for his ancestry. And I've been told there is another reason for them wanting you back alive, as well."

"What? What is the reason?"

He shook his head. "Brother, you should know I am not of high enough rank to be given such information." I glanced around at the others, who also nodded.

I decided to take advantage of the moment. "Ahraib is the authoritative master of this mission?"

"Yes."

Do I tell them that Ahraib, my own master, is most likely a spy of the Templars? And that all of the brothers Haytham killed were also deceivers? I looked into their young faces and decided against it. They wouldn't believe me. In fact, they would probably think me mad -- or, at least, madder than they already believed me to be.

I'll just use them to rescue my daughter. Let them deal with this mess. Once she is safe, nothing else matters: not the Templars, not the brotherhood, not me, not Haytham, I decided. I will save my daughter's lover if it at all possible, but if his death means her life, so be it.

"You will tell them that Aless and I died during the battle," I instructed. "I will give you a lock of hair from both of us as proof. Haytham shall be your prisoner. I swear it."

The youth propping up the wounded one shook his head. "I don't trust him," he said, staring me down. "He'll kill us the second he has the chance."

"As would you," I retorted. "We will each have to watch our own backs, yes?"

"Brother," Ghazi interrupted before the boy could raise his voice again. "It's either this or we continue fighting. And I don't want any more death this day."

"Neither do I," I said.

He studied me. In his eyes, I saw wisdom beyond his scattering of years. "I also do not trust you. But we also know when we've been bested. You are a true master, Kaim."

"Then we have reached an understanding," I observed.

"For now," he agreed. He nodded to the rest of the youth, who all sheathed their weapons. I did the same with my stolen sword. The one with the cut calf was lowered to the ground, and two others bent over him and began tending to him.

"He can't come with us," I pointed out. I also gestured to the rider who had been pinned. He was standing unaided, but he wasn't putting any weight on one side, either. "Or him."

"I know," he said, and then thought for a moment. "After we catch my horse, we will still have three mounts. The two wounded can find safety in the wood and guard each other until we return."

"That is still four warriors and three mounts," I said. "And we are nowhere near a main road. Even if we were, we would find few a traveler at this hour, this late in the day. Another must stay behind."

"We cannot attack the Templars with only three of us!"

"Remember your training. Remember the brotherhood," I scolded. "A single man can bring down an entire army if he is not seen. Three is plenty. Besides, do you truly want to leave your two wounded brethren behind without a healthy guard?"

Ghazi looked at the setting sun as he pondered. "It is either that or we ride two to one horse."

"Which would render two riders useless if mounted combat should occur," I asserted.

He didn't speak for a moment as he turned the matter over in his mind. "Majid," he called out to the one who had threatened me before. "Find my horse. And then prepare to make camp with Radi and Tahir."

Majid stood up from tending to the youth with the cut, his hands covered in blood. "No! No, you can't leave me behind."

"Majid, you yourself said I was your superior. We do not have enough mounts, and I cannot leave our brothers alone this night," Ghazi replied evenly.

And you're irrational and emotional, I added silently. You'll only further fray this unstable agreement.

His face contorted in anger, but then returned to calm. "Fine." He wiped his bloody hands on his robes and then set off after the horse, which was trotting in nervous circles in the distance.

"We leave at sunset," he said to me and the only other warrior who would be traveling with us. He looked me over. "Tend to your own wounds. I won't save you, or even guard over you, should you fall in battle."

"And neither I, you."

He narrowed his eyes. "Then we have truly reached an understanding."

"Truly."

* * *

Author's Note: 

For those of you rolling your eyes at Kaim steering the horse with just his legs, hush. I took a horse over fences with nothing but a blanket once. XD No, I don't ride anymore ... head injury. Owwie.

ANYWAY, thanks again for the reviews, especially one that pointed out some pretty stupid errors I've made in past chapters. I apologize for my typos and grammatical errors. I kinda just type these and then throw them up. I mean, I read it through at least once to get it up, but I'm not out for perfection. I'm just having fun. I promise I'll go back and clean everything up ... when I feel like it. No promises when that will be. Heh.

BlackInque is mad sexy. That's all I have to say.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

There was not much time before sunset, but it didn't matter; the broken ribs and the head injury would only heal with time, time I didn't have. I sat away from the others, who had gathered around a small fire, and did what I could. I tied my broken arm up in a temporary sling fashioned from another brother's red sash and washed the blood off of my face.

I tried to redress the bolt wound myself, but I couldn't reach. Every time I tried to lift my arms high enough to just take off my tunic, the ribs grated together, causing me to spit out obscenities. The brother with the cut calf watched me try this a few times before he sighed in surrender and limped over to me.

"What is it," I asked, feigning disinterest.

"Do you require assistance?"

"I asked for no help."

"I didn't ask if you requested assistance. I asked if you required it."

I didn't respond.

"Fine," he said. "Hold on to your pride. But don't be so stubborn as to refuse a favor when its freely given to you." He closed the gap between us and began pulling my shirt over my back. Resigned to my fate, I let him.

"So you are Kaim," he said quietly.

"What of it?" I grumbled as I maneuvered my broken arm out of the sleeve.

I felt him inspecting my body as he whistled through his teeth. "Do you remember how you got all of these?" he asked. He began to clean the wound.

"What? The scars?" I asked. I had just barely entered the second half of my third decade, but my midsection was decorated with gouges, slashes and mounds of scar tissue. I had the marks of a warrior who had lived twice as long as I.

"Yes," he encouraged.

"A few," I said casually. "Not all of them, certainly."

"Some of these …" He let the sentence trail off. "You're a lucky man."

"Luck had nothing to do with it, boy," I responded, wincing slightly as his cloth dug into the torn flesh. I clasped my hands together in my lap and leaned my head down, stretching out my back. "Why do you help me?" I asked him, looking over my shoulder.

"Aless is a dear friend," he said, his voice brimming with tenderness. "And even though I do not know you, I -- no, all of us -- we see the love you have for her. We see you are willing to risk everything for her. That entitles you to going into battle for her with your injuries tended to, if nothing else."

"Are you a parent?"

He mumbled a distracted "yes" as he placed the bandages on my skin. "Twin sons," he said.

"Then you are truly blessed," I said.

"Perhaps," he muttered. "But this life … it is difficult to be a brother and a father, yes? One cannot have two families to which he is sworn." He paused and chuckled. "As much as this wound you have given me hurts, I must admit it feels me with a certain joy. I will be 'forced' to be recover with my sons on my lap and my wife's meals in my stomach."

I let my head sink lower as a smirk crossed my lips. "I can always give you another, if the bite of my steel brings you so much pleasure."

"Oh, no, no," he said quickly. "One is enough." The mirth left his tone. "And I think you've bitten into enough of my comrades for one day."

I didn't respond. I owe him nothing, I thought.

He helped me lift up my arms and pulled the shirt back over me. "It isn't much, but it will do for now. The bleeding has stopped, at least," he said. He hopped around to the front and looked at me. "Here," he said, handing me a water skin. It wasn't until I laid my eyes on it that I realized I hadn't eaten or drank anything since the evening prior. Fearing I would create a knot, I only swallowed enough to satisfy my thirst. I handed it back to him and wiped my mouth with my hand.

The brother still lingered. "The way you fight and the scars on your body …" he said thoughtfully. "They tell the story of a person who doesn't care if he lives or dies."

I turned away from him. "Moments before, you were trying to kill me. Now you say this?" I asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from my voice.

"I apologize, brother," he said as he began limping away. "As I said, Aless is a dear friend. And she truly loves you. Do not throw that away."

I pulled my knees up as I watched him make his way back over to the fire. Ghazi looked up as the brother rejoined them. He whispered to him for a moment and turned his attention to me.

"Are you ready?" he asked me.

I nodded.

Ghazi gestured to the other brother joining us, and they both rose from the dirt. As Ghazi approached me, the other walked over to the three remaining horses and began untying them.

"That is Jyin," he said. "He shall prepare the mounts."

I nodded. "Do you have a plan?" I asked.

Ghazi shook his head. He had a slender face and a slim build, but I could see his mind working behind his deep eyes. "We do not know enough to even begin to form a strategy. Perhaps if we share what we each know, we can piece together a semblance of one."

I thought about resisting the suggestion and accusing him of attempting to twist information from me. But when I looked at his eyes, I saw no ill intent. "You are a man of your word, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said, his probing gaze imploring me to speak.

I could find no further reason not to do so. "Haytham is brash and is not as skilled of a fighter as he believes himself to be," I began. "And he is also madly in love with my daughter."

"A hazardous pairing," Ghazi observed. "And I have trained with Haytham before. He is a gifted swordsman, but he also is far from even-tempered."

"Yes. He may try something stupid, like reasoning with them, or even attacking them directly. This is, of course, all under the assumption that he wasn't captured on the road. His hoof prints were chasing directly behind the Templars. All they would have to do is turn around and wait if they wished to ambush him." I didn't bother pointing out that the Assassins had jumped me in the exact same manner as I recklessly chased Haytham.

"If Haytham is already imprisoned, matters will be much trickier," he said. "Chances are the two of them will be kept far away from each other, so any rescue attempts would have to be divided between the two targets."

"Yes," I said again. "But do you know where they are?"

"Unless they intend to travel through the night, which I doubt, they have probably taken refuge at a keep built on a high hill not far from here. It was under Crusader control during the first war, but it fell into Templar hands during the chaos of the temporary peace."

"I know of this place," I said. "The wooden gates around it burned during a battle, but the structure itself was unscathed. Its walls are thick, and I've heard tales of the murky crypts in its underbelly."

"Then that is surely where they would put Haytham. Aless, however …"

"They would not lock her away in the dungeon if she is still with child," I asserted. "They won't risk that babe. They know what it is worth."

"But that is all if it still lives."

"Yes," I said. "If not, she may also be down in the crypts, but in a different section. However, I still doubt they would put a woman down there."

Ghazi went silent for a moment. "I will search the grounds surrounding the keep as you and Jyin make your way inside, into the dungeon."

I immediately realized his intent. "No," I said, clenching my fist.

"Yes, Kaim," he replied sternly. "By the nature of this mission, we must separate. And I cannot have you looking for Aless by yourself. You will sneak off with her without giving us our proof."

I couldn't deny his reasoning. The thought had crossed my mind more than once already. "Then allow me to search for her with Jyin while you go into the dungeon after Haytham," I suggested quickly.

"I will not leave you alone with Jyin," he said. "You would kill him if he was the only thing standing in between you and your daughter's freedom. I won't risk his life."

Again, I couldn't deny it. "Then you and I … we search aboveground, while he goes below."

"He isn't skilled enough to rescue him by himself. I fear I must repeat myself: I won't risk his life," he said. He found my eyes and glared at me from under his hood. "Do not make me regret this decision."

I returned his gaze. "Would you threaten me? As you stand here before me?"

"No," he said. But there was no surrender in his tone, just cold logic. "I know we could have killed you. Do not look surprised. We all knew of your injuries. We knew you had little time before you succumbed to them. But we also knew you would take as many of us down with you as possible. We have chosen life over further death. We only ask that you join us in that choice.

"Many of us know your daughter," he continued. "Some call her friend, but we all call her comrade. The elders … they look down upon her for her skin color. But not us. We grew up with her, so she has always just been Aless in our eyes. It is the same with Haytham. They are the closest thing many of us have to siblings, and we do not want them to die needlessly."

"The masters will kill Haytham as soon as they have a child from him," I said. "You know this."

"Yes," he said. "I do not know what caused Haytham to kill our brothers like he did." He paused. "I believe you may have the answer to that question, but I am afraid of what you may say."

"It is easier to be blind to truth and follow orders than to know truth and question. Is that it?" I asked bitterly.

"For now, yes," he said. "I am the leader of this mission now. If I doubt, my soldiers doubt. And if my soldiers doubt, their sword swings will not be as true."

"And you do not want any more death today," I finished for him.

He just nodded and then looked up. Jyin was walking toward us, three horses in tow.

"Ghazi, if I agree to this plan, and we do become separated, where shall we reunite?"

"Here," he said. "Bring Haytham with you to this place, and we will bring Aless. Then we can make the trade."

I studied him again, but I could see nothing in his gaze that would suggest he was leading me astray. "What good is honor to an Assassin?" I asked him in disbelief.

"I don't know," he replied, half interested. "Other than for today, it has made the funeral pyre less high."

Jyin handed each of us reins to a horse. On first glance, Jyin appeared to be Ghazi's superior. He was taller, and his robes couldn't hide his muscle mass. But I saw the way he just looked at Ghazi, waiting for orders. He was a grunt, a well-trained grunt. I couldn't have asked for a better man to join us. My respect for Ghazi greatly increased at that moment.

"We ride," Ghazi said as he mounted. "And if they are, indeed, at the keep, I will scout ahead, and we will then decide our first step."

I pulled myself into the saddle with my right arm and gingerly let my legs and hips guide my midsection into place, trying to avoid twisting my ribcage or disturbing my arm sling. Ghazi watched this, his calculating expression never changing. He must have decided at that moment that I was going to be essentially useless to him during this battle.

Of course, tacticians like Ghazi never account for human bravery … or bravado, whatever you wish to call it, I thought as I kicked the horse into a canter, falling in stride behind the other two. He could never understand that any self worth I had left was all tied into this one night. When a man has nothing left, he fights beyond what others perceive him as physically capable of.

And I truly had nothing left at that moment.

After all, Ahraib has betrayed me, I concluded. I murdered Omran, the father of my future wife, because I refused to think that my own mentor could turn against me. Or had Ahraib really turned against me? I wondered. Or was he, too, just another pawn of some Templar still hidden from of my line of sight?

The possible loss of my mentor, Ahraib, meant nothing compared to the loss of my daughter, Aless. Even if all came to pass as my wildest dreams could hope for, nothing would ever be the same between us again, I realized as we turned our horses toward the setting sun.

While she was growing up, I never talked to her about why she looked differently from the other children. And she, somehow, knew not to ask me. She must have sensed how much those questions would have devastated me. So we lived in ignorant bliss for ten years, my stolen treasure and I.

Now she is grown woman. More than that, someone else's lover. And a mother.

And what do I have to give her, this mother bearing the next of kin of Altaïr's bloodline? If it is true, if the Piece of Eden has revealed to the masters that a descendant of Altaïr will save our people from being eradicated, a great destiny awaits her and this child. And what am I, but a selfish, selfish bastard greedily seeking nothing but relief to my own misery?

I am just a ghost of her past, refusing to dissipate, refusing to sink back into my grave.

At least for tonight, I have a purpose, I thought. At least for tonight, I can fight for her. Ghazi thinks this body is useless in battle, and he's right. But there is so much more to a man than just his body, Ghazi, I thought as I pierced daggers into his back with my eyes.

You will witness that tonight, boy. You will witness that until this broken body of mine refuses to draw breath.

* * *

Author's Note:

This is probably going to be my last little note at the end of my chappies. I'm getting close to the end of this mess, and I want the story to speak for itself from now on. But feel free to message me at any time!

But anyway. Boring chapter, I know, but certain things had to be set up. Tension and all that, I guess. Not that I have any idea what I'm doing, mind you. XD

If the Dems lose the White House, I'm putting all of the blame on a certain other, extremely talented A.C. author who shall remain nameless.

... Stupid Nader.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

The sun disappeared, and the sky wrapped itself in the gray dust of twilight. In the distance, a saw a thin line of smoke snaking into the clouds.  
I kicked my horse up until I was riding next to Ghazi. I gestured with my head in the direction of the smoke. He nodded at me and reined his horse in. Jyin and I did the same.

"I'll ride closer and look about so I can decide on a plan," Ghazi said.

"No. We take advantage of what little light we have left by riding together. There are only advantages to having our three pairs of eyes over your one."

"I can hear that you will not be persuaded otherwise. Fine, we shall all approach the keep. But there are no doubt guards stationed around the parameter. From here, we travel on foot." I could see the question in his gaze. He didn't think I could make it.

I dismounted with a graceful sweep of my legs and landed square in front of his horse. I rested a hand on my sword hilt. "Well then?" I did my best to hold the boastful pose as the trees bent and swayed in the background.

Ghazi, satisfied, signaled to Jyin, and they both dismounted, as well. We tied up the horses away from the road and began making our way toward the smoke.

We encountered one scout as we approached, who Jyin dispatched of gracefully and quickly. Ghazi and I lingered behind as we watched Jyin's outline close in one the other figure. His arm snapped into the guard, who promptly fell in a heap on the ground. Ghazi and I approached, and the three of us looked down on the body.

"Have you ever had a direct fight with a Templar?" I asked my two juniors. They shook their heads. I rolled the body over with my foot, and blood was still jutting out from the wound made with Jyin's retractable knife.

"They do not rely on silence and ease of moment, like us," I said, tapping my foot on his arm. "He wears chain mail. Others will rely on heavier blades, helmets, full plate armor, even shields."

"We know of their tactics," Ghazi said, insulted.

"What you know is one thing. But it is quite another to adapt your fighting style to accommodate to that knowledge. Seek out all of our enemy's weak points. When you identify them, strike them like a hawk with your superior speed. Never engage in a direct, drawn-out sword fight. You will lose."

They didn't argue, just nodded. Part of me wanted to ask how much time had passed since they had earned the hood, but it wouldn't have mattered. Even though we would never admit it, Ghazi and I each knew that this endeavor would be impossible without the other's blade. He was too inexperienced -- and I was too injured -- for either of us to succeed on our own.

I rolled the body back on its stomach, and we continued walking toward the smoke line.  
Before the first of the stars could appear, we could see the black silhouette of the keep. It looked menacing and cold, like a raven with its wings wrapped tightly about its body. From its position at the peak of the hill, it rose high against the dark blue backdrop of early nightfall.

Yet it was what my ears perceived, not my eyes, that filled me with those most dread that night.

"What do you hear, Ghazi," I said as we three crouched among bushes and trees at the base of the hill.

"Nothing," he responded. "Just their fires, and the wind."

I felt the muscles in my legs tense. "Something has caught their attention."

Ghazi realized my intent, but it was too late. I broke away from the cover of the flora and began sprinting up the hill. Still, I heard nothing, even though they could have heard me, no doubt, if I only raised above my voice over the fires. I dared to look up, and I could barely make out dark figures gathered in a semicircle at the keep's entrance. And someone was standing in the center of them.

At the top of the hill, but still far enough away from the keep, a small, empty wagon had been left. Had Aless been chained in here, just hours prior? I kneeled behind the wagon's wheel just as Ghazi and Jyin also joined me.

Ghazi didn't bother rebuking me for my sudden departure. He must have known it was useless. Instead, he held up his index and pointer fingers on his left hand and closed his eyes. Taking his cue, I struggled to slow my own breathing and the frantic thoughts careening about in my head and, instead, just focused on listening.

After a moment, I heard low, angry voices. But one voice was higher, more desperate. Haytham.

"I come to barter for the life of the woman," he said.

So he does plan to reason with them? I marveled. This fight between Assassins and Templars lost all reason long ago, yet he plans to just walk up to them and ask them to turn over the one thing that may be worth as much in this war as the Piece of Eden? Stupid, stupid youth.

I couldn't take it; I had to see what was going on. Ghazi opened his eyes and watched me creep on the balls of my feet to the backside of the wagon. I pinned my body against its wooden surface and dared to turn my head around its corner.

Haytham was standing before a group of about ten Templars, all heavily armed. From the flickering light of the low fires, I could see him turn around and wrap his fingers behind his head. Two guards rushed up to either side of him. One held his shoulders in the front as the other bound his hands at his lower back.

"And who are you," asked the sneering captain, leaning on the hilt of his sheathed rapier, "who has the authority to barter for the Assassins?" He wore the proud, red cross of the Templars, and his chest plate caught the firelight. His sword hilt displayed his rank: The guards on either side of the grip curved out, creating a sweeping, graceful shape. But what displayed it even more was the way he regarded Haytham, with his chest jutting out and one of his boots planted in front of the other.

"I am Haytham, son of Abbas, son of Altaïr," Haytham declared, raising the volume of his voice. "Altaïr's blood will be carried on only through me. I am his only grandchild, and his only son is dead."

His words drew grumblings from the soldiers.

"Yes, I know his son is dead," said the captain, quieting his men by raising his arm. He replaced his hand on the hilt and strolled closer to the young man. "It was I who killed him." I couldn't see Haytham's face from that distance, but I heard the captain laugh. "Oh, does that not please you, boy? Knowing that it was I who killed your father and mother? They died like common thieves, you know. I left them lying in a puddle in the streets of Jerusalem."

"Do not stray from the subject," Haytham said, but I could hear his voice wavering with emotion. "Take me in exchange for the woman."

Fool, I thought.

But then, what if it did work? I asked myself. I tried to imagine every possible scenario. It is true that Haytham is the only grandchild. If Aless were set free, the Assassins would still require Haytham. But if I do not need Ghazi and Jyin's help to obtain Aless, I will not help them to obtain their target, either. And if they try to force me …

I knew Ghazi's mind was working just as furiously as mine. He probably already knew my intent: that if this plan worked, if Aless was just handed over, I wouldn't hesitate in killing both him and Jyin if they stood in our way of escape. I heard Ghazi shift on the balls of his feet. He was preparing himself, in case I decided to strike.

The captain paused and closed the remaining distance, taking Haytham's chin in one of his hands. He turned his face side to side like he was examining livestock before making a purchase. "Yes, I can see the resemblance. You have your grandfather's build, and his eyes. That man gave me this scar. Do you see?" I couldn't make it out, but I saw him point to somewhere near his eyebrow.

"You see it before your own eyes, then. Let us make this exchange and be done with it."

"Now how much sense would that make, grandchild of Altaïr?" he asked slowly. "When this woman carries within her the next generation of his precious bloodline?"

Still alive, I thought. She must be so strong.

The same realization must have struck Haytham. But to his credit, he kept his passion in check for once. "She is of your blood, a Christian, making the child too far removed from the Assassins for them to take notice of," he said confidently.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Would you want the bastard child of an Assassin in your midst?"

The captain laughed. "Your words ring true to me. But still, I'm not so sure I should just hand her over to you. Bethanee, you see, is my cousin," he said bluntly. "That is her real name, you know. And Bethanee's father is my mother's brother. Your lover is close kin to the one who killed your parents. Does that change your proposal?"

"No," he said firmly, without hesitation.

The captain didn't turn away from Haytham. "Bring out the girl."

So focused I had been on the situation unfolding, that I didn't even realize Ghazi had moved up behind me.

"Don't move," he said, his voice a grated whisper. I felt the prick of his knife in my back. His other hand tightly gripped my broken arm.

I chuckled. "You think me that impatient?"

"I don't know what you'll do when you see her. But I've seen enough to know that I cannot trust that you will keep a level head. I say it again: Don't move. We wait for the right opportunity. If we rush in now, she's all but dead."

How dare he patronize me, I thought. But I won't deny that I felt my heart beating in my throat.

It's true that I probably could have killed Ghazi then. However, he knew that if a fight broke out between us, it would alert the Templars, who would lock Aless away again, or worse. So you see, he wasn't threatening me with violence; he was threatening me with noise.

I could hear the portcullis sliding up, the grind of dull metal knifing through the clear, night air. From out of those black depths came two guards, their hands wrapped around the arms of a third profile, but this one had the contours of a woman heavy with child.

"We had to put her in the dungeon, you see," the captain said as he watched the figures emerge from the darkness, "because our scouts heard whispers of a rescue attempt. But if we had known it was only one boy, then we would have been more considerate. You Assassins, though … Can't be too cautious, yes?"

The guards brought Aless into the torchlight, and I felt my throat tighten.

She looks just like Frances, I thought.

It was too far away, too dark: I couldn't make out the details of her face. But I saw her tight curls spilling over her robes, her long legs and, more than anything, the fire in her disposition. Her stride was dignified, her steps almost dainty, but I could see her muscles straining underneath their grasp.

Haytham tried to rush to her, his feet digging into the sand, but the guards held him still. "Just let her go. Let her go," he pleaded.

"Haytham, you dim-witted bastard," I heard her cry out, as she, too, fought against the firm grip the other guards had on her. "They'll kill you, don't you see?"

The captain took a few quick strides over to Aless. "Both of you stand still, or I'll end all of this right now." He balled his fist and let it hang ominously close to her stomach.

"If you touch her, I'll …" Haytham began, just as the thought was forming in my own mind.

Ghazi, sensing my adrenaline rush, dug his fingers into my arm, and I hissed out in pain.

"Not yet," Ghazi said. I turned to glare at him, but his calm face showed no signs of relenting. The knife poked deeper into my back, and I felt a cold line of blood slide down my skin. I looked back on the scene, trying my best to quiet my anger.

"I won't, as long as you cease with this nonsense," the captain said. "Your hysterics bore me." Immediately, the lovers quieted, standing calmly in the hold of their captors. Satisfied, the captain gave a flippant flick of his arm. "Someone fetch Imad."

I know that name, I thought. He was an instructor, a comrade … someone I would have called friend not so long ago.

One of the Templars jogged away from the group and returned. But he was not alone: Following in his shadow was an Assassin, still wearing the white robes, but his hood was down.

"What is it," he grumbled. "I should be making my departure for Masyaf at this very moment."

The captain grinned and walked over to him. "Surely you have just a moment to solve a bit of a problem for us." I couldn't help but note the change in his tone and his stance: He spoke to Imad as if he was an equal. The captain guided Imad into the circle and gestured to Haytham.

"Oh, yes, quite the problem you have here," Imad said. "Let me guess: The youth wants to trade."

"Master," Aless called out. "Why are you…"

"He's a traitor!" Haytham responded. "We were attacked by traitors! The Assassins have been …"

"Consider this your only warning, boy," the captain said, never losing his composure. "Quiet." He looked back to Imad. "Yes, this grandchild of Altaïr wants us to take him for the girl."

Imad looked Aless over. "But the babe is still alive."

"It is. We have been most careful, as you said. But the boy claims the babe is of no worth to the Assassins, since it is so far removed from their blood."

"No, no trade," Imad said dismissively. "The Assassins will not know if the child is the true descendant that they seek until after it is born and brought before the Piece of Eden. Despite the babe's lineage, the Assassins will still want to test it, as they did last time."

My mind whirled. Last time? When was there a last time? Did Haytham conceive other children before this one? Or did Altaïr have …

"The masters have declared that the survival of Altaïr's bloodline is necessary for our survival as a people," Imad said. "However, they do not know which descendant of the bloodline. So they rely on visions and whisperings that come to the Wielder of the Piece of Eden."

"What in hell is he talking about?" I heard Haytham ask under his breath. The guards, irritated, punched him in the stomach, and Haytham's body curled up as much as it could in their grasp.

"Stop it, don't touch him!" Aless said. She and Haytham both went ignored.

I, too, was struggling with Haytham's unanswered question. Even as a high-ranking instructor, I had only been told a handful of truths about the Piece of Eden and its power. To me, the way they spoke of it reminded me of the way they spoke of God, which I always thought peculiar.

I couldn't think clearly. Not while my daughter was a captive, and not with all of the variables being thrown about.

And none of it will matter as soon as she's safe, I decided again.

"What about the girl?" the captain asked.

"What, just the girl? With no babe?" He shrugged. "Completely worthless."

"Master Imad, I respected you!" she cried out. "Why would you do this to me, to us?"

That cut through Imad's exterior. I could tell by the way his shoulders bunched up. "Child, there is too much at stake here. You cannot understand everything at work."

"We've done nothing!" she exclaimed.

"Irrelevant," he said as he turned to her. "For whatever reason, you are now part of events that will determine the history of the centuries."

"Is that all this is?" she asked him. "Male pride? What do you think you can change? Nothing."

Again, she went unheard. Imad and the captain turned to each other and began whispering.

I realized that Ghazi had loosened his grip and had let the knife fall from my back. I turned to him briefly. "Now you see," I whispered. "Treachery. Rats eating into the flesh of the heart of the brotherhood."

"I … don't believe it," he said, his eyebrows coming together. "The masters would never …"

"I believe that Master Ahraib of the eight is a Templar," I said bluntly as I looked back to Aless. "And there may be others."

"Impossible," he muttered, his frown deepening.

"Deal with your crisis of faith and loyalty later," I said, as another decision formed in my mind. "Just don't stand in my way as I free both of them."

"Both?"

"Yes, both," I responded confidently. "Would you still return Haytham to Masyaf, knowing that it wasn't loyal brothers, but spies who attacked him? Can you live with yourself, knowing that you were solely responsible for the death of an innocent man?"

"I … I don't know."

"Well decide now," I said coldly. "Because now that you know the truth, you have no reason to continue following orders. If you choose to do so, I won't hesitate in killing you. Killing you and any others who would stand in my way," I added, as I heard Jyin adjust his stance. I gestured in the grunt's direction. "Your solider waits for his next command."

Ghazi went silent just as the captain and Imad turned back to the group.

"There is a very simple solution," the captain said. "In our grasp, we now have the only grandson of Altaïr. And I apologize, my dear," he said, looking at Aless, "but he is a much more worthy hostage than you. And there is one way to make Haytham even more valuable."

Ghazi realized it before I did.

"They'll kill the babe," he hissed.

As if on cue, the captain again made a fist and began approaching Aless, as the guards tightened their grip on her and Imad turned away.


	14. Chapter 14

-1Chapter Fourteen

What is it that makes one human being care about another human being? Care so much, your own life becomes forfeit? Why did I decide at that moment that Haytham's life was suddenly worth more than my own?

I continue to ponder those questions to this day.

But my decision was partially based on my realization that Haytham had broken free from his captors the same second I leaped out from my hiding place behind the wagon. We were both compelled to irrational actions based on our unconditional love for the same woman.

Ghazi tried to grab me, but his reach fell short. I pulled the long sword free with my good arm and dashed the remaining distance up the hill. All of the Templars, all ten of them, turned to face me, including the captain, as I rushed at them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Haytham fall to the ground and tumble away from the guards as they tried to regain their hold on him.

As I brought my sword to bear, Aless looked at me. For a second -- less than a second, half a heartbeat, maybe -- we shared a glance. Both of our faces balanced between terror and joy. Joy that we were reunited, and terror that this would be the last time we would see the other alive.

The guards ripped her from my line of sight just as three other soldiers blocked my path and surrounded me.

Three against one, I thought. No, three against a half, considering my entire left side has been rendered useless.

But I had miscounted. A knife came sailing to my left side and skimmed along the cheek of one of the Templars. He faltered, and another came zipping through the air. This one hit its mark: The blade sunk into the soldier's throat until nothing but the handle was visible. He fell in a heap, just as the other two raised their swords.

Ghazi, Haytham and Jyin appeared around me, weapons drawn.

"I thought you said don't fight them directly," Ghazi said wryly as he fell into a crouch, kicking at the knee of the Templar to my right.

"Yes, well …" I said, lopping off one of the Templar's ears as he ducked his head from Ghazi's blow. The soldier gave a howl and collapsed, clutching at the squirting hole. "One must act on his feet. You know, in time of crisis."

"Of course."

One of Haytham's long knives defended against a forceful strike of the remaining Templar's rapier. The other long knife slashed through the guard's face, slicing all the way through his cheeks. The guard fell away and spat out chunks of his tongue as Haytham twisted his wrist and buried a knife into his side.

"It's a trap! Guards!" we heard the captain shout.

Again the night air was filled with the sound of grinding, rusted metal. The portcullis was closing. And in the distance, we heard rallying cries from the encampments in the distance.

Haytham turned to me. "They'll kill my…"

"I know," I said.

No more words necessary. We took off at a sprint for the keep.

"We'll fight them off here as long as we can," Ghazi called out, as he and Jyin fell in defensive poses. "Just bring her back alive, and you will find a clear path waiting for you!"

The two of us fell into a roll, diving underneath the gate. It shut behind us with a final groan of iron and chains. I leaped to my feet and turned back for a moment, just in time to see at least fifteen other Templars stepping out from the darkness and surrounding Ghazi and Jyin.

Compared to our enemies, they looked so young, so small. I knew at that moment they wouldn't survive.

Haytham hadn't stopped moving after he entered. He didn't realize I wasn't behind him until he was almost around a corner and out of my sight. He turned back to call out to me. "They made their choice," he said, his knives still in his hands. "Don't make it in vain."

I nodded, and the two of us dove into the dark depths of the keep.

We formed a strategy without exchanging any words. Haytham and I followed the group down into the structure's depths. A thin stairwell spiraled down the interior walls. Engaging them directly on the stairs would have needlessly endangered Aless. So instead, Haytham and I trailed them as they made their descent. We stayed out of their torchlight, but we could still hear their heated exchanges echoing off the stone walls.

The thick air clung inside my lungs. Although far from pleasant, it was a blessing in its own way. Sound cuts through dry air, but not as well through moisture. Haytham and I silently followed them with ease, to the point that we could even exchange a few words.

"Why did you leave me behind, boy," I whispered.

"Oh come now, look at you," he said. "You can barely stand." He gestured to my sling. "And now you're down to one arm, for God's sake."

"Did you think you could do this alone?"

"Did you?"

I pinned my body against the cold wall and waited, realizing the torchlight below us had stopped. Haytham did the same. Gruff voices bounced up to our ears for a moment. We held our breath, father and lover, and listened for the cry of a woman. If we heard it, we knew we would give up our cover and try to fight them. But the light began moving downward again, and so did we.

"If you die, she won't forgive me," I said.

"And what if you die? Do you think she'd forgive me?"

"Quit answering me with questions. It's tiresome."

"If you die, she won't forgive me, either. There. Does that suit you better?"

"Don't get sly," I grumbled.

"I suppose we've reached a crossing point. You don't want me to die, and I don't want you to die, all for fear of angering Aless. So how about we protect each other as best we can, but not be extraneously brave in our actions?"

I grinned despite myself. "A logical proposition. I accept."

"Good."

We were nearing the end of the staircase. I couldn't see it: I could barely make out the step directly in front of me, much less the bottom of the spiral. But I sensed it. The weight of the air on my lungs was becoming almost unbearable, and the thick, violating stench of fresh rot almost caused me to choke. I tried not to think too much on what could be causing such a stench.

Haytham and I froze again when the torch reached its destination. We heard the jangling of heavy metal keys, more raised voices and the cry of rusty hinges being pulled open. Haytham immediately dropped to his knees and peered over the edge of the steps, risking a look down at the party below us.

I stayed close to the wall, watching him watching them. The voices died away, and so did our only light source, as the group went through the door.

I heard Haytham carefully return to his feet. If I extended my arm, I could have touched him, but I couldn't even make out his outline. Or my arm, for that matter.

"What did you see?" I asked, cautiously raising the volume of my voice.

"About seven Templars, and the captain. That traitor Imad is with them."

"And …"

"She's fine. At least, for now."

"Did they close the door?"

"I could still see a slit of light. So no, they didn't lock it behind them."

"Keep moving. Just put one hand on the wall. Use it as your guide."

"Are you going to remind me to exhale next?" he asked as I heard him take his first few steps.

"Maybe," I said dryly, as I took my own first cautious steps in the uncompromising darkness.

Walking through the pitch, denied one of my primary senses, my mind turned back on all of the pieces of information it had collected.

"Haytham," I said slowly and sternly. "I want you to be honest with me."

"Why?"

"You ask me 'why' before I even pose the question. The brotherhood has taught you well, yes?"

"No, I have no reason to trust you, much less be honest with you," he said.

I heard a rock lodged loose from our passing slip over the side of the stairs and go tumbling over the side. I splayed my fingers wider, as if covering more area of the wall with my hand would make my footsteps more sure. "A fair point, but I still think you should listen to the question before refusing to answer."

"Fine then," he said. "Ask."

"Have you had other lovers besides my daughter?"

I heard his footsteps stop. His voice was suddenly directed at me as opposed to in front of us. "Again you accuse my love of being a farce!"

"Keep walking," I said. "We talk only as long as it takes us to reach the bottom of the stairs." I heard him groan, but I also heard him turn away from me and continue his descent. Satisfied, I said, "Think on it. What did Imad say?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "A lot of nonsense. Something about the Piece of Eden, which isn't even real, from what I've been told."

"Yes, but what else? Were you listening? Or were you too distracted?"

"Yes, I listened," he snapped. "Nonsense about bloodlines and destiny. And something about …" His words died away as he, too, came upon my insight. "You don't think there are …"

"Uncles of yours somewhere? Or perhaps cousins? Maybe even brothers?" I finished for him. "It is the only other possible answer, unless you have fathered …"

"Of course not! Aless was my first, and my only. How old do you think I am?"

I thought about telling him that I had brought dozens to climax before I was even half his age, but I didn't see the point. "You were about ten when I last saw you, so you can't be over seventeen."

"Somewhere close to that. I lost count," he said, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

We walked in silence for a moment. At last, I could see a thin ray of light cutting through the artificial night. It was the door at the bottom of the stairs, left open just a crack.

"Do you think it's possible? For me to have family, still alive?" he asked me. I could hear it on the edge of his voice, an emotion which had grown so foreign to me in recent years: hope. Part of me longed to coax that emotion, to call out its name, to give it life and meaning. But it was the other part that ruled: the part that believed hope was for naïve children and wanted to see such silly whimsies crushed and ground into the dirt.

"Don't be a fool. If Imad knows of these individuals, that means so do the Templars. And if the Templars know of them, they're probably already dead."

He didn't answer, either because he couldn't dispute my assertion or, more likely, because we had reached the bottom of the tower and didn't want to risk discovery. I peered around Haytham and through the crack in the door and saw a long corridor with lit torches on either side.

"I lead," I whispered in his ear.

"No," he shot back, turning to me.

"Get behind me, boy," I snarled. "Take my pace. Follow my lead. Now."

"No!" he repeated, throwing open the door. It screamed on its hinges as he caught it in his hands and rushed through.

I was on his heels, entering right behind him. "Would you have everyone above and below know our location?"

"There is no one around," he said, raising his volume again. "And if what you say is true, if they've killed others, than they won't hesitate with Aless." He picked up his pace, jogging through the narrow corridors, splashing through murky puddles and dodging cobwebs.

"Haytham, slow down," I said.

A rat scurried over my boot. The boy turned around a tight corner, and I also picked up a trot, fearing I would lose sight of him. From within the crypt's depths, I heard the same chorus of low, rumbling voices.

"Haytham," I called again.

Just as I looked down a new hallway, he was already turning down the next. The stone walls gave way to deep cells on both sides of us.

I saw the source of the stench. Bodies, rotting, bloated, swollen, in the cells. Their eyes hanging from their sockets, their organs sinking low in their guts as their skeletal arms hung from chains bolted to walls. Most of them used what muscles they had left to turn their heads and eyes upward, begging to God to save them.

They all must have been left down here, forgotten, as the war died down and then burst back to life elsewhere. This keep was now nothing but a tomb. In death, race meant nothing. They had been left in those cells so long, rot had wipe clean any distinguishing racial features. The victims of a war divided by skin color and religion all left to suffer and eventually stink in the exact same manner: Perhaps someone, somewhere would find something poetic about it. I just found it all revolting and pointless.

From dust to dust. If only it were that simple, that painless. If only life were nothing but a brief rearrangement of the elements that compose us. But it's not that simple, far from it. We take bodies. We eat, we give birth, we fuck, we fall in love, we hate, we kill, we grow old, we rot. Only after all of that, after we've become so vile that the forms we once incorporated cause the living to hold their noses, do we turn back to dust.

In those corpses, as I chased after Haytham in those murky corridors, I saw my own fate. Surely, another gathering of dust bits would pass by my rotting form some day and cough, maybe vomit a little, just at the smell of me.

The thought was depressing and amusing all at once. The deterioration of my sense of equilibrium created the same reactions. What the valiant rescuer, what a brave gathering of dust bits, I was turning out to be, I mused.

"Haytham!" I tried again. I received no answer.

I careened around another corner, and five white figures materialized in the orange torchlight. One was Haytham. I recognized Imad, who had his knife slapped against Haytham's throat. The remaining three had crossbows drawn.

Caught, trapped, again. With Aless so close.

"This is why we don't go running ahead, Haytham," I grumbled. "You'll find rats in tombs, you know."

"Quiet," Imad said, but not before Haytham could scoff at me. "Drop your sword."

I weighed my options. I could rush them, but at least one of them, if not all three, would hit their target. I didn't know anyone who had been hit by a crossbow bolt at such a close range and survived. And even if I did somehow manage to break through the rain of bolts, could I break Imad's hold on Haytham before the traitor cut his throat? Doubtful.

I threw the sword, and it clanged loudly on the stone floor.

"Why did you do that?" Haytham asked.

"Quiet," Imad and I said in unison.

"He won't kill us unless he has to, Haytham," I added.

"You learn quickly, Kaim," Imad said, gesturing to two of the other Assassins. They strapped their crossbows on their back and approached me.

"You know my name?"

"Master Ahraib told me you'd be coming."

The two bound my hands in front of me, trying to keep the broken arm in its place in the sling.

Imad spoke to the two after they finished the task. "One of you, go tell the captain they've fallen into our ruse and we're ready to depart, as soon as the mess above has been cleaned up. The other, stay and help me tie the boy."

"Where is she? Where's Aless?"

"Shouldn't you be thanking us for taking her below as you and your friends created chaos aboveground?"

"You would kill my child!"

"It's a bastard. Why do you care?"

"You son of a …"

"Haytham, enough," I scolded. "It's pointless." He glared at me, but I didn't back down. "Stop."

"Listen to him, boy," Imad said.

Haytham quieted.

I looked back at Imad. "Tell me, was it Ahraib?" I asked him. "Did he send me after Frances, hoping to distract me while he and the other spies made their move for Aless and Haytham?"

Imad's comrade held Haytham's arms in place as he shackled him. "I will let Master explain all. Boy, your child is safe: I've convinced the captain to hold off so we may follow the original order. We are to bring all three of you to him, alive."

"All three? Why bother with me? Why not just end it?"

"You don't know?" he asked me.

I remained silent.

He shook his head. "It is not my place to divulge. But hear this: You and the boy share more in common than you know."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Blindfolds, gags, bound hands. The memory loss I had been praying for two days ago struck me at last, when it was utterly useless. All that remained were strong sensations, such as the chafing taste of a dry cloth in my mouth, the smell of my sweat mingling with the smell of the corpses and the anger festering in the pit of my soul.

I must have been knocked out at some point. Either that or I just passed out, again. I hoped for the former, since my manhood was probably at stake if the latter was the case.

When I woke up, I realized the blindfold and gag had been removed, but I was still bound. Everything hurt. I wondered if my body would ever reach a point again when it wasn't so. With every bounce of the wagon, my broken bones were jostled, and my skull ached.

I had been propped on my right side, and in front of me, I saw the wagon driver, who was one of the Assassins from the crypts. Imad sat next to him in the front seat, and the remaining three leaned against the walls of the interior of the wagon, their hoods pulled low. By the faint, yellow dust in the air, I guessed it to be dawn.

One of the guards leaned his head back and peered at me from his shadows. "Don't move."

"No need to state the obvious."

"Nice to be working with an experienced captive."

"Clever. May I sit up, at least?"

"No."

I closed my eyes, resigning myself to the prone position. And then, it struck me. If all of the Assassins were in one wagon, then …

With a groan, I curled my stomach muscles and sat up.

"What did I just tell you? Lie back down or …"

"Leave him alone," Imad said without turning around. "This will be the last time they see each other alive, most likely. Let them enjoy it."

She was looking at me, her eyes quiet, her lips pulled thin. She, too, was propped against the wagon's side, but straw had been arranged around her to absorb the shock. Those wild curls spilled over her shoulder, and a deep, fresh cut crossed her cheek and the bridge of her nose.

Of all the emotions raging in me, of all the regrets, of all the things I could have said, I decided to focus on the most obvious, and the most pointless, among them.

"Did you clean that?" I pointed with my index finger at Aless' face.

"What, this?" she asked, also pointing as best as she was able. Her hands were tied, as well. Her voice sounded very similar to me. The same clarity, the same confidence. But it now had behind it the knowledge and wisdom garnered during our six years apart.

"It looks deep," I said.

"It's fine."

"Do you want it to scar? Or worse, to fester?"

"No."

"Then clean it."

She flicked her head as best as she was able, sending a few tendrils of spirals back over her shoulder. Unlike me, her emotions were raging all over her pale face, gusting as unpredictably as the desert winds.

I looked to my right and saw Haytham curled up on the wagon bed.

Aless followed my gaze. "He's been sleeping off and on since we departed. He can't stay awake. I think he's hurt," she said. In her voice, I could hear her calling out for my reassurance and comfort. But I didn't feel worthy to give it. Only a few days prior, I had bathed in the blood of a woman who looked so much like her: just a little older, a little more bitter. Frances wouldn't have sought me out like her little sister was.

When I didn't answer, she looked to her bare feet.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, breaking the silence.

"What?" I asked as I felt my throat hit my stomach.

"I said I'm sorry," she repeated, turning her eyes toward the wilderness. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"What makes you think …"

"I was just a foolish little girl back then," she interrupted. Unbidden tears began to form at the corner of her eyes. She bunched her face up in an effort to fight against the tide. "But I've matured a lot, I know I have. And I'll prove it to you. I promise. Just don't …"

"Aless, stop, please."

"Just don't leave again."

"Aless, no."

"I know you left because of me, because I disgraced you. I didn't mean to shame you. I just wanted you to be proud of me. That's it. That's why I trained with your students. I wanted you to recognize me like you recognized them. I wanted to be more than your treasure, don't you see?" She lifted her head, exposing her neck to me. I saw the faint glint of a gold choker, the same gold choker I had draped around a babe all those years ago. "I just wanted to prove my worth to you."

We had an audience. The three brothers had leaned back and were peering at us from under their cowls.

None of this is right. None of this is happening how it was supposed to happen, I thought. Everything was spinning out of control, and I couldn't rein it all in. I was slipping into her quagmire, succumbing to her whirlpool.

"And now I'm just helpless again. I've forced you out of hiding because you have to save me again, your pretty little treasure." The curls fell in her face again, and she let them. She also gave herself over to the tears. "I hoped that some day I would rise through the ranks, just to show them what a daughter of Kaim is capable of. But it's all ruined now. All of it."

At last, I reached my breaking point. To think that for my six years away, she blamed herself for my absence: It was too much.

"Stupid girl, you've ruined nothing!" I cried.

She shrank back, pinning her body against the wagon's side. "I'm sorry, I …"

"No, quit saying that! Just stop. Stop."

She went quiet, but the streams continued to flow down her cheeks, falling on her rounded stomach.

"You have nothing, nothing to be ashamed of. Ever."

"But I …"

"No!" I shouted. "No, you did nothing. Do you understand? Nothing." I let my head hang low. "I'm the weak one. I was always the weak one, even back then. And I'm still the weak one now. I deserve nothing from you, least of all your apologies."

She turned away from me and looked to the guards, who still seemed to be thoroughly enjoying our spectacle. "Untie me," she commanded with natural, yet honed authority.

"Excuse me?" one of the brothers asked.

"Untie me. I wish to go to my father."

"She must be joking. Woman, do you kid me? Do you think me that dull?"

She sat more erect and craned up her chin. "Apparently, yes. I'm with child. What do you expect me to do, tip the entire wagon with my bare hands?"

The brother went silent. Imad turned around and nodded. "She makes a fair point. It's probably good for her to stretch her muscles anyway. Watch her, and don't make it long."

The same brother moved forward and untied Aless' arms. She rubbed her wrists, tied her hair back and, keeping on her knees, moved over to me.

"No, don't," I forced out, shaking my head and turning away from her.

"I hope you can forgive me," she said as she sat next to me, "if I disobey you again."

Before I could protest, she laid her head on my shoulder.

"You have no idea what I've done to you, Aless," I said quietly, my head still turned away from her and my body stiff.

"I don't care."

"Think on your words, girl. You do not yet know my sins."

She buried her nose in my shoulder. "I don't care."

"You're not even my daughter! Do you understand that? You were never my daughter."

Shifting her body to move her pregnant stomach out of the way, she leaned her entire body against me. "I don't care."

I gave in. I pulled my right elbow back, trying not to move the broken left arm, and invited her into the space. She slipped into my arms. I rested my head on her right shoulder and let out a long, shuddering sigh.

With that sigh, my body relaxed and all of my love for her rose up in my throat. I tried to swallow it back down, but to no avail. This woman in my arms, she was my daughter. Her smell, more than anything, is what identified her to me, what caused my paternal instincts to swell. She smelled like cups of milk in the early morning, dirty knees, games of chase and unconditional love.

I held her tighter, breathing in that smell, and she let me. Yes, she was a woman now, with breasts and hips and love for another man. But I shut my eyes and took in her scent, tricking myself, for a moment, into believing that she was still only as tall as my midsection and I was still whole, not just fragments of a person.

I realized she was still crying. I stroked her arm with the few fingers that could reach and buried my nose in her hair.

"Quiet now, girl. Why are you sad?"

"Because none of this … none of this is how it was supposed to happen."

I chuckled. "You're too much like me. But come, are you afraid of appearing weak before the man who raised you?"

"No. I mean, yes. I suppose so. You more than anyone else."

"That's nonsense."

"No, it's not. It's not and …" She sat up a little, and I maneuvered my arms up higher around her. "…I just want you to see I'm still good for something, even with my body like this."

She caught my eyes for just a moment. In that instant, I saw a flare of energy in her gaze. Before I could study the look long enough to make any sense of it, she looked away again and buried her nose back into my chest.

It was then that I realized that my ropes had been cut, and a small knife had been left in my right palm. And she, the clever girl she was, had sprawled back over my lap, over my hands, to hide the deed.

Good for something, indeed, I thought, trying my hardest to keep a straight face. Where she had been hiding the knife, I didn't know. I still don't know, to this day.

I continued comforting her as I adjusted my grip on the knife. "Of course you're good for something. You're bringing another life into this world."

"I know but … I wanted to fight alongside you. I want you to see what I've learned."

"All in time," I said as I tapped my finger on her leg, letting her know the knife was secure and I was ready for her to move.

"I know," she said, sitting up more in my arms. "I can wait."

I knew she had caught my meaning: I wouldn't strike until it was the proper time. I wouldn't risk her life, or the life of her babe, any further. And she had just told me that she understood and would be patient.

Haytham turned over in our direction, and I looked over Aless' shoulder to see him wrinkle his face and moan. I felt Aless go rigid. She wanted to go to him. As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew it was true. Carefully, slowly, I moved my arms back out, and she slipped away from me.

She maneuvered to his side and brushed a strand of hair out of his face. "Haytham, look at me."

The boy's face was covered in a light sweat, and there was little color in his skin. "The light hurts," I heard him groan.

Aless clasped his hand. "You're a damned fool, a son of a whore, you know?" she said.

"Don't curse so much," I said, but she ignored me.

"You shouldn't have came for me," she scolded as she leaned over him.

"I'm sorry I … failed you," he forced out, his body curling.

"Stupid ass!" she hissed. "This is not the time to pity yourself. We're in all of this together now, as much as I wish it otherwise." She touched his face. "Your skin is so hot. Do you feel hot?"

"I don't know."

I turned to Imad. "The boy suffers from fever."

"We know," Imad responded. "But there is little we can do. He was badly wounded during the battle in Masyaf, but the bastard kept fighting. Now he's paying the price."

"Wounded?" I asked. "Where? To what extent?"

Aless gently touched his right side, a spot underneath his robes. "Here. It is an angry sword cut."

To think, all that time, he kept going, despite of his wound. No, not despite it. It played no role in his actions. I doubt it even crossed his mind. Before now, at least, I thought.

"Nothing could have stopped me from rescuing you," he said, reaching up for her face.

"And a fine job you've done of it!" she admonished, clutching his hand. "What if you die, hmm? What will I do then?"

"I'm not going to die. I can't die."

Aless went quiet, realizing that he was no longer making sense. His breathing was labored.

"Give me water," Aless said to the guards.

"We've been giving him, along with you and Kaim, drinks as we deem fit. He is hydrated."

"Then give him my share for next time!" she shot back. "Now."

"Aless, don't," I said. "You need it."

"Not as much as he does," she said, reaching for the small cup as it was extended to her. She propped him up and brought it to his lips. The wagon was bouncing, so much of it spilled on his cheeks and neck. Realizing it was futile, she dipped her garments in the cup, soaking up the water, and rubbed it on his face.

As she tended to him, I turned to Imad, who was still holding the open water gourd.

"Do you remember me, brother?" I asked him quietly.

"Of course," Imad said. "You, Kaim, outranked me before you left for Damascus, even though you're at least ten years younger than I."

"Were you a traitor, even back then?"

"I was in league with the Templars, yes. Call it what you will."

Looking into his face, I remembered passing him in the halls of Masyaf. "If Master Ahraib hadn't told you I would be coming, would you have recognized me?" I asked.

"No, never," he said. "You've aged terribly."

"So have you."

He chuckled. "Yes, well. Perhaps." He took the cup back from Aless and secured it on top of the gourd.

I tried to take advantage of his talkative mood. "What do the boy and I have in common, Imad?"

"I have said all I was given permission to say. I consider you a brother, but I cannot go against orders."

"You believe in your cause that much?"

"Yes," he said without hesitating, his face leveling. "I think that's enough fraternizing with the captives. Among the captives, as well. Tie her back up."

Aless gave him a stare I had seen on many a warrior before, a stare that promised matters were not over between them, that swore blood. "Go back to sleep," she said to Haytham, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

Haytham turned his head in my direction to look at the guard wrapping his hands around his lover. But his gaze shifted to me. I watched him try to focus on the fact that I was there with them.

"Has he told you, Aless? Has he told you?" Haytham asked her through dry lips.

"Go to sleep," she encouraged as the guard retied her to her corner of the wagon.

"No, no …" he said. "This man, this man you call father, do you know what he's done?"

"Haytham," I said, my voice low. "No."

Before, I had wanted to prostrate myself before her. But now, the thought of everything being laid bare terrified me. It terrified me enough that the knife in my hand suddenly presented a viable option.

"He killed them. Your parents, your sister, dead. All by his sword."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Sarcasm, for me, has always been a foolproof option, no matter what the situation. God save me if it's a sin.

I kept my eyes on Haytham. "What do you think I killed them with, straw?"

One of the guards chuckled.

But the boy had passed out again. The fever was eating his mind. I doubted he would live the night, much less see the birth of his child. Looking at his face, so strained and pale, I felt a fool for even considering the notion of harming him.

With him quiet, the heaviness of the situation became real. Silence lumbered between us: an awkward thing, empty of meaning, but taking up so much space. I felt it crushing into me. But I was too much of a coward to look it in the face, much less Aless. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that she, too, refused to face the beast. Her eyes were on Haytham's chest, which was rising and falling much too rapidly.

The silence grew ever larger. I tried to ignore it, focus on the other noises. The creaking of the wagon, the birds calling in the distance, the whistle of the wind, anything. But even the guards and Imad felt the rising tension; they exchanged no words, just looked at me, waiting for me to speak.

"If you hate me," I finally said, "do not hide from it. I've been waiting for this day for seventeen years."

I heard her swallow and shift slightly. "I knew."

"What?" I asked, turning to her.

She wouldn't meet my gaze. "Omran told me shortly before I was captured. And Haytham, he tried to convince me of it, too. But I knew, long before then."

"How?"

"Master Ahraib."

My muscles clenched. "Then my doubts are gone. I'll kill him."

"Bold words for a captive man," Imad warned.

I ignored him, and so did Aless. "No," she said, her tone of leadership again causing the guards to turn their heads.

"No?"

"No, you will not." She waited to make sure I wouldn't protest before continuing. "Wait."

"Why?"

"Because you're a bound, helpless captive, that's why," Imad pointed out, growing more irritated.

Again we ignored him. "Because I feel much has yet to be revealed," Aless said, struggling to turn her whims into words. "I do not think he means us ill. I know with all my being that he loves you."

"How do you know this?"

"Ahraib took me in as his direct apprentice after you …" She trailed off. It pained her to finish the sentence, but she steeled her face and forced the words from her lips. "After you left. He has been my master. Not just one of the eight masters, mind you. But my teacher, my guardian, almost, since I was a girl."

You're still a girl, I thought. "He's a traitor, Aless, a Templar."

"Maybe. But I know his intentions are …"

"How? How do you know?"

"Because I know him! Just as I know you. He told me my parents were your targets, that you came home with me after a mission. He wanted me to understand the pain you carried. He wanted me to know why you were afraid."

Even before I said it, I knew my next statement to be a lie. "I fear nothing."

"Then why leave? Why wait until you thought my life was in danger to return?"

I had no reply. She was staring at me now, searching me for answers. But I had no answers to give, just more questions. "What of your sister? Did you hear of that, as well?"

"Yes, from Omran. He said brother, but I suppose it was a sister. I told Omran and Haytham that I didn't believe it, but I was just angry. I knew it was true. Somehow, I knew."

"So your precious Ahraib did not tell you?" I asked bitterly. "Then how do you of my intentions in killing her?"

"Because I know you."

I waited for more words, but none came. "That's all. You simply know me. How, how can you possibly know me?"

She wouldn't budge. My protests were nothing to her, like waves crashing against cliff walls. "I just do."

I couldn't accept it. I was too horrified and too disgusted with my own self to come to terms with the fact that she could go on feeling that way for me. "You're an ignorant little girl, blinded by what you think is love. It will be the death of you."

"Then let it be," she said carelessly, tearing at a piece of straw. "I don't care."

"You're stubborn. And a fool."

"Fine."

The guard sitting closest to her chuckled. "There's no persuading her of anything, you know," he said to me.

"Kadari, quiet," she muttered, her fingers still fiddling with the husk.

"You two know each other?" I asked.

"Of course; I know all of them. Actually, I've defeated all of them, at least once."

"Except me," Imad said.

"Yes, well," she said with a smirk, "it's disrespectful to challenge an instructor."

Imad just shook his head and sighed.

I couldn't grasp what was happening. "That one," I said, gesturing to the one reclining next to her. "He's the one who shot me with the crossbow."

"True," he said, grinning. "But come now, isn't it his fault for standing so exposed?"

"You're a terrible shot otherwise," Aless said under her breath.

"Your taunts are pointless, woman," he chided playfully. "You can't do anything with that babe in you."

Then it occurred to me. The roles of prisoner and keeper were crumbling around us. The memories and friendships among them were too strong -- and the journey too long -- for it not to be so. Ghazi had said it himself: They had all grown up together, called one another friend, even sister and brother.

And with none of the other Templars around, just these traitors in white hoods, they could at last let down their barriers and talk to Aless in the same manner they had for so many years.

None of the other Templars around? I thought.

It shames me to admit that it took me that long to realize it. It would be convenient to blame it on the head injury, but truth be told, being in my daughter's presence again had numbed me. Holding us confined were just Imad and the four other Assassins who had confronted Haytham and me in the crypts. We were one wagon, alone in the wilds, pointed in a direction that I hadn't noticed until that moment.

"We are heading back to Masyaf," I said with certainty.

Aless, Kadari and the other guards looked at me. It shocked me how easily the brothers could throw those facades back up. Once again, their features went blank, and they pulled their faces into the darkness of their mantles.

"Yes," Imad said, stripping his tone of any emotion.

"Why? Did you not just say you were …"

"Under the command of the Templars, yes."

"Then why return us to the Assassins?"

"That is not our plan," Imad said.

"Then what?"

"We take you to Ahraib. He will decide what to do."

"Why not simply leave us with the Templars?"

"Father," Aless said quietly. "Imad, and the others… they stopped Captain Bradford from …" Even she, with all her strength and will, couldn't bring herself to finish. All she did was touch her stomach.

It all came together, despite the fact that my memories were jumbled. "We're fleeing from the Templars."

Imad didn't answer, but the dark expression on his face was all the affirmation that I needed.

Kadari, keeping his eyes on his superior, respectfully filled in the gaps. "While you and Haytham waited in the tower with us, Captain Bradford and Imad exchanged terse words. That bastard, he grabbed Aless again and threatened to punch her. Imad pulled his sword on Bradford, and in moments, the Templars charged in, trying to seize you and Haytham. You were both out by then. But we managed to escape."

"Why? Why the risk?" I asked. "Do you realize that you now have no allies? The Templars hunt you, and the Assassins, they also will hunt you. I doubt you've managed to keep your double-handed deeds a secret through all of this chaos. Especially from the brothers."

"I also doubt it," Imad said. "So, yes. You're right. Except you miss one more faction."

"One more?" I asked.

I could see the exhaustion on his face. "Let's reconsider for a moment, yes? The Templars want you," he began, gesturing to our pathetic trio when he said "you," "to trade for the Piece of Eden. The Assassins want you to ensure their own survival. And, your friends from the keep, they want to save you from both parties."

"Friends from the … Ghazi and Jyin?"

"Have been tracking us since we left the keep," Imad confirmed. "They will move to free you, sooner than later, probably."

They survived, I thought. I should have expected no less from one as wily as Ghazi. "But what of you? Why do you want us?"

Imad shook his head. "I will let Master Ahraib answer. We shall rendezvous with him in a secluded place in the Masyaf territories."

"But, you acted on your own accord when you saved Aless and Haytham's child. Why?" I watched him try to decide how much more he should divulge to me. "What further risk could there possibly be, brother? Why not just speak?"

He gave a helpless shrug. "You're right, Kaim. I couldn't hurt my own station more no matter how I might try. So I will tell you. I couldn't let it happen. It was wrong, and I couldn't let it happen. And Bradford made that decision without consulting anyone beyond himself. Among the Templars, we are of equal rank. But he does not see it that way, and he knows my influence is minimal. It was not part of the original strategy, and I couldn't have lived with myself if I let it happen."

"Do not pretend, Imad," I said. "If we hadn't charged in, you would have sat by, probably even watched."

"A mistake," he said quickly and with heat. "A terrible mistake. I was relieved when you and your friends attacked. When Bradford and I pulled Aless into the tower, I found a moment to whisper in your daughter's ear. I promised her I wouldn't let him touch her."

"Is that true?" I asked Aless.

She nodded.

I curled my fingers around the small knife, which was still clutched tightly in my right hand. I decided to give them one more opportunity to save themselves. "Then let us go."

"What?"

"Let us go. If you care for my daughter, and if you promised no one would touch her, let us go."

"I didn't say no one. I said Bradford."

"If that entire Templar unit is chasing us, then there is no hope of reaching Masyaf, at least not without a fight. In the turmoil, the chances of her losing her child are large. You know this. And this one…" I said, gesturing to Haytham, "needs the proper care and rest, which he isn't receiving now. He'll die soon if we don't act now."

I heard Aless suck in air at my remark. But I had confidence that she was brave enough to handle reality.

"Kaim, I will not play this game with you. You talk as if you are all just battle captives. The worth of each of you …" He trailed off. "You could end this war, you know, if the right party placed his bets correctly."

"You mean these two. Not me. The Assassins just want me for the 'murders' in Masyaf."

"No, Kaim."

"Again with these riddles! Just answer me. Why do they want me? What ties the boy and I?"

He regarded me with amusement. "You wish to know now? One as emotionally volatile as you would truly want to know now, while the life of your daughter hangs in the balance?"

I let the remark pass by me. "It is a valid question. I deserve to know why I am being held, yes?"

"Well, no, you don't. But I'll tell you, if you're sure you truly want the answer."

"Just say it. This is getting dull."

"Father," Aless said, trying to keep her own emotions in check. "Not now."

"You know, too?" I asked.

"Yes, and, believe me when I say, not now."

"Did Ahraib tell you this, as well?"

"Yes, but please, listen to me. Please."

But by then, I was too tired of the circles. I have little to no patience, as I'm sure you've already realized. So I ignored her. "Say it."

"Altaïr, he is your …"

But he didn't finish. The wagon driver had collapsed and was splayed over the front of the seat, a knife hilt buried in his flesh.

My story, however, is not quite that dramatic. Imad had managed to say the first sound of his last word before chaos burst from the trees in the form of Assassins, Templars, arrows, bolts, metallic rings and war cries.

He meant to tell me that Altaïr is my father.

And all I could do was laugh.

* * *

Author Note:

I know I promised no more author notes, but umm ... Shout out to Sanriko in the first few grafs! Heh. Sorry, I couldn't resist.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 

It didn't take me long to put Imad's disclosure out of my mind.

Save her, I thought. Nothing else matters.

Not even that my entire life has been a farce.

With the driver dead, the horse went into a frenzy. We were careening toward a line of trees. And among them, I could see Assassins and Templars, all struggling to get closer to us while trying to cut one another down. It was mayhem.

As Imad struggled to reach for the reins, I shuffled over to Aless' side and cut the ropes holding her in place as well as at her hands and feet.  
"Jump," I commanded her.

"No!" she cried, struggling to look behind me. Haytham, I thought. She won't leave him.

Kadari, realizing we were free, turned to us, his weapon drawn.

"I can't let you escape," he said grimly, but even through the din, I could hear his voice wavering.

"You will," I said, brandishing the knife. "Because of your care for this woman. But face me, if you dare. I cannot be stopped when cornered."  
The other two remaining guards went to Kadari's side. They exchanged nods.

"Just keep her safe," Kadari said, and all three of them leaped over the side of the wagon, landing on the balls of their feet and sprinting off toward the fighting.

Which side will they draw swords for? I allowed myself to wonder as I reassessed. Looking back to the front of the wagon, I saw Imad was also gone. I realized why: The reins had fallen out of the wagon and were dangling out of anyone's reach. I considered jumping on one of the horses' backs and reining in the two-animal team, but there wasn't enough time. The trees were looming ever closer. In moments, we would be in the reach of their shadows.

"Jump now," I told her again.

"No!" she shouted. She struggled to get past me, but I held her in place.

"Damn you, woman! Consider your child first. That is what he would want. If you jump, I'll save him."

That same blind trust and love that I had ridiculed moments before suddenly proved to my advantage. She looked at me with calm, confident countenance and struggled to her feet.

"Try not to roll," I told her. "If you must, land on your back, not the front."

"I know," she said.

Then I saw her: the same archer from a few days before, who said I had killed her lover and master. She was standing at the tree line and had an arrow pointed at Aless.

I went to grab Aless and pull her back into the wagon, hoping to cover her body with my own. But my hand grabbed nothing but air: She had already jumped.

I watched the arrow fly, watched it cut through the air, watched it bury itself into Aless' arm, which she had brought up at the last possible second to block. Aless let out a moan and collapsed, and the archer brought up another.

Haytham was conscious, barely. But he was also bound. He would not escape unaided. And once the wagon reached the trees, it would be smashed to bits.

But I couldn't watch my daughter die.

"I'm sorry," I muttered to Aless -- and Haytham -- as I leaped over.

I was closer to the archer, who could shoot at Aless again long before I reached her side.

So I charged the archer, holding nothing but a knife and wearing no armor. "Aim here, you filthy bitch," I yelled.

She turned her head, but not her bow. Until she saw who I was.

"You make this too easy," she called back. "But I'll oblige."

Another arrow went flying, but this time, I couldn't see its shaft. Only the point, coming straight for me.

I dodged, but I wasn't fast enough. The arrow went sailing into my right shoulder.

Like father like daughter, I thought with a grin, as I, too, fell to my knees in the grass.

Another one came to her fingers. This one went into my left thigh. It was an intentional miss, I realized. The archer was prolonging my death.  
Somewhere -- from miles and miles away, it seemed -- I heard Aless scream. Was it for me, or for her lover? I wondered. Surely the wagon had been torn apart by now. Surely he was dead.

The archer closed in, hatred for me boiling over her beautiful features until they were twisted and writhing, until she no longer looked human. She walked until she was within my reaching distance and then pulled out another arrow from her quiver.

I knew I could put up no defense against her. My left arm was broken, and with the arrow in my right shoulder, that side, too, was useless. The arrow in my left thigh told me that leg would be of no use, and I couldn't even locate the muscles needed to move my right leg.

She leveled the arrow right into my face, right in my line of vision, so that all I could see was its razor-sharp edges. "Would you have any regrets that must be released before you die?" she asked.

I snickered as everything except for that arrow point blurred beyond comprehension. "Oh, I might have a few."

"No games. Speak, or die without speaking. It matters not to me."

The war noises were drawing closer. Aless was still screaming. How much she sounded like that mother I remembered from the fire of my childhood at that moment.

But it was all happening outside of me, beyond my reach. In retrospect, I realize I was dying. Yet I managed to push through the fog and find my voice. "Only one: that I'm a selfish, selfish bastard," I said, smiling bitterly. "And I know I'll never be forgiven for all the sins that would accompany one with such a designation."

"Fitting last words for one as pathetic as you," she spat. "Now die."

I resigned myself to it, closing my eyes. I even let that comforting, thick fog creep in a little closer. It called out to me, asking me to just lean back, exhale, release the tension from my body. To go on living, it's such a chore, isn't it? These bodies of ours demand our constant attention and care. If it is not water, then it is food. And if it is not food, then it is shelter. And if it is none of these three, then our bodies cry out for love.

But that fog, it promised to wipe all of that away. Where it wanted to take me, none of that would be needed. If fact, it wanted nothing. That held the possibility of the most relief to me.

"Stop, sister!" I heard a voice say from nearby. "Stop."

"This man does not deserve to live."

"Not your decision to make. Lower the weapon."

"Who are you to … Ghazi?"

"Yes. God has reunited us sooner than expected, Isra."

"Who is this man, that you would defend him?"

"The son of Altaïr!" I heard my daughter cry. "And I carry that same master's great-grandson. Kill us, and risk execution!"  
"Is this true? This miserable excuse for a man, our savior's son?" she asked.

"Yes," Ghazi said with no hesitation, even though he had no way of knowing. He was lying to a follower of the creed for me.  
From somewhere, even farther back in the fog, deeper shouts materialized.

"The Assassins have them, stop them!"

"Go to the girl, get her to safety," Ghazi said. "Or the Templars will capture them both. Do not make me have to report to the masters that you were responsible for losing them to us." I heard a pause. "The thirst for vengeance is a sin. Bleed out that poison from your heart, and follow orders."  
I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Kaim, look at me. Can you stand?"

My tongue felt heavy and dry in my mouth. "No."

"This is the second time I save your life." He said before letting out a piercing whistle. "What will you do to repay me if we live through this? Gold? I doubt you have much of that. Women? I've heard of your taste, and it doesn't sound appealing to me."

His pointless bantering gave me something to cling to, to focus on. It was like a solitary, stark tree in a bleak field. I climbed its branches to the top, trying to rise above the mists.

The pounding of hooves drew closer. Ghazi muttered to a rider, who dismounted quickly.

"Are you sure?" Jyin asked.

I heard no reply, but a bit of cloth was shoved between my lips.

"Bite down," Ghazi instructed. "And stay conscious." He turned to Jyin. "We do this together, on my signal."

What is he talking about? I wondered.

Just as they ripped the arrows out of me.

The tree cracked and crumbled in my grasp. I fell back into the fog, and I welcomed its wet embrace.

"Kaim," I heard from the clouds, rotating lazily hundreds of miles above me. "Kaim, look at me. Your daughter still lives. Do you understand? She still lives, so your life cannot end yet. If you die now, all those years of living just for her would have been pointless. Do you hear? All your misery, meaningless."

Damn him, I thought. Damn him and his uncanny ability to see what motivates a man. Five trees, six, seven, ten shot up out of the fog. And this time, they stretched higher and higher, up into the sky, toward Ghazi's voice. It took me seconds to scale one of them and to break through the clouds.

I forced my eyes open. Ghazi was staring at me.

"You're a predictable bastard son, you know?" he said, clasping my left shoulder.

"Go to hell," I muttered through bloodstained lips.

He just grinned. "You first," he said as he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me to my feet.

"He's bleeding too much," Jyin said. "He has no chance."

"Silence, just get him in the saddle," Ghazi commanded. "Then ride with him as hard and fast as you can for Masyaf." He paused. "Do not give me that questioning look. If Isra does not yet know of our actions, then neither does the rest of the brotherhood. And she now rides with his daughter for home. Above all things, he wants to be by her side. And if he is who Aless says he is … Then you should be honored to serve him."

The Templars were closing in. I could hear them all around us. One voice led them, encouraged them on. Bradford, no doubt. I was lifted up and over the saddle. Jyin mounted behind me and held me in place with his right arm.

"What of you?" Jyin asked.

"I, too, am honored to serve him," Ghazi said. I heard the grind of steel as he pulled free his blade. "And not because of his bloodline. Simply because of the sort of man I know him to be."

"Safety and peace," Jyin told him. In those words were the weight of a final farewell.

"Peril and upheaval, you mean? Wouldn't that be more accurate?"

"Suit yourself," the rider said before he slapped his heels into the mount's side.

Days passed. As I hovered in the clouds, floating in between the fog and clear sky, I thought of all of the people who had died because of my actions. Sometimes, I saw their faces in the thickest, most tempting areas. Frances was always the first to rise up before me. She reached for me with blood-stained hands. She licked my earlobe, caressed me in ways that made me writhe.

Fever dreams or spirits, I don't know. Whatever they were, they plagued me as I struggled to keep my head above water.  
I pulled out of it long enough to ask Jyin two questions.

"Aless?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. Isra is a faster rider. But she was chosen to bring Zarif back to Masyaf because of her knowledge in healing. That was how you had your unfortunate encounter with her: She stabilized Zarif and left him to fend for himself while she rejoined the fight. So do not worry. If any can keep her and her child alive, it is she."

"Ghazi?"

The young man just shook his head. "I made the mistake of turning back, just as Bradford cut him down. He's dead."  
Then I'll look for him among the others, I thought as I slipped away again.

As I had grown to expect, Frances was there, waiting for me, naked and dripping in her own blood.

"Son of Altaïr," she whispered on the surface of my skin. With a whimper, she dug her nails into my wounds. My form was incorporeal, but that did not lessen the pain. And riding up underneath that pain was searing, electric pleasure. "Carry on the bloodline in me," she pleaded. "If my sister is worthy, why not I? Take me, take me now."

It took everything of my fractured will not to.

Praise God she looked so much like Aless.

"Jyin, you shall be recognized for your deeds. You have served the brotherhood beyond any would ever surmise."

We have returned, I realized. I heard horse snots and pawing hooves. The Assassins had intersected us on the road, but we also had to be very close to Masyaf. I could tell by glancing at the ground and seeing pale grit, not rich dirt. The soil color was all I could process before I shut my eyes again, hiding from the glaring morning light.

"How does he fair?" another asked.

"As stable as can be expected," Jyin said. "His mental anguish is as intense as the physical, it seems. He cries out and tosses, yet I have managed to keep down his fever. So I know the cause to not be of his body. It will make his recovery all the more difficult."

I was pulled down from the saddle by soft, thin hands. Women's hands. They were stripping me of my clothes, peeling off my bandages and wringing out wet rags.

"What of Haytham, brother?"

"I know not," Jyin said. "I lost track of him during the fighting."

They began pressing hot cloths into the wounds.

"They shall treat Kaim here and ensure he can complete the journey to the inner gates. In the mean time, brother, let us discuss the honors to be bestowed upon you."

"Yes. But first, a question, master," Jyin said.

"Yes?"

"His daughter?"

"She is also being held in the inner gates. Isra returned to us four days prior."

"How does she?"

"She is in labor. It all proved to be too much for her. But God watches over us: She is in our hands, our care now. It is early, but not so early that we fear for the infant's life."

"Yes, but, how is she? Not the health of her babe, but her health?"

The master paused. "Why do you ask this?"

"If you want Kaim to live, keep his daughter alive. If you lose her, he'll give up."

"Wise words. Thank you for your observations, Jyin. Are there other questions?"

"Is he, truly, the son of Altaïr?"

I heard the women around me draw in sharp breaths. Their hands stopped and went stiff against my body.

"Where have you obtained this knowledge?"

"Ghazi."

"And where is Ghazi?"

"Dead."

"A loss. A terrible loss. Come to me, my son."

Don't, I thought. Jyin, run. You're slow-witted, but please tell me you're not that slow. Don't join Ghazi.

"What is it, master?" he asked as he walked to him.

Dumb bastard.

The women gasped, and I heard a body hit the dirt.

"No one speaks of this," the master said. "Or join him in hell."

* * *

Author Note: A less obvious shout-out to Sanriko. 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Greetings, Kaim."

Leave me be, I thought. 

"Kaim, I know you're awake. Just please, grant me a few moments."

Time had passed. Days, weeks, months, I had no way of knowing. As the Assassins did everything they could to keep me alive, I drifted in my limbo state, where there was no sense of time or space. It was silent and gray, but there was comfort to be found in its simplicity. I knew I could stay there forever, if I wanted to. 

Stay here until the final death claims you, I heard the dusty grasses whisper to me. 

Frances and the others, I did not see them again during that time. The field and white sky were mine and mine alone. They had subsisted in the fog, which stayed along the parameters of the field. I knew to avoid it. I didn't want death, at least not then. I was content in that quiet place, a pocket of space that existed somewhere in between the two extremes. 

Yet I forced myself to leave that comfort now and then. I climbed up one of the trees -- the same trees that Ghazi had planted for me when he reminded me that Aless was still alive -- and brought myself back into my body. It always felt so inferior to my incorporeal form at first. But then it became familiar. It was, after all, my body, the only one I had known. It was a broken body, but my body, nonetheless. During those brief moments, I did a quick assessment, much like I had that evening with Haytham.

The first few times, I felt nothing but pain, pain so intense that I was propelled back into my field. 

But it lessened. The treatments were working, I could feel that. I was getting stronger. Slowly, yes, but steadily. I began lengthening my stays in this reality. 

In some ways, it was the hardest battle I had ever fought in my life. After all, I had to choose pain. I had to willingly leave the numbness that the field offered me and climb back up one of those trees. The reality that existed beyond the white clouds, it offered me nothing. Nothing except the only path to fulfilling my promise and my duty.

Hardly appealing, I know. 

Yet I did it. Again and again, I forced my way back into myself and waited for the only reward this life has ever brought me: pain. And it came almost eagerly to reclaim me.

Hello, old friend, I thought once as I gave into spasms that rocked and tossed my frame. Warm hands held me down, and blood went cascading down my chin as I bit through my lips and gums. And back into my field I went. 

I repeated this process at least thirty times before I reached the point that I could open my eyes. But I didn't open them. I wanted to wait until I was sure that I could stay in this reality and leave the field behind forever before letting the Assassins know that I was recovering. 

If they think I'm dying, Aless and her child are priceless to them, especially if Haytham is dead, I thought. Let them wait. Let them hold their breath. 

When I'm well enough to fight, then I will open my eyes.

But someone had seen through my ruse. Someone had realized I was quietly lying in my body, gently exploring each wound as well as my general health. Someone was calling out to me, asking for me to respond.

It was a voice I knew. It was Ahraib.

"Do you know it has been six months since you last used your voice?" my old master asked me.

Six months, I thought. So much can happen in six months. 

I had been working my jaw and tongue, but he was right. My throat felt foreign. Yet nothing would stop me from croaking out one word.

"Aless?"

I felt him lay his hand on my shoulder. I tightened my muscles and pinned my teeth together. "Do not touch me," I forced through my cracked lips as I opened my eyes.

It took me a moment to focus. When I did, I saw nothing but Ahraib's face. He was looking at me, towering over me. He, too, had aged terribly. His lines were deeper. His eyes, more hidden in folds. Behind him, I saw bars that spanned the floor to the ceiling. Beyond the bars was darkness. I was in the Assassin's inner dungeon, but the area of the dungeon for people of lesser offenses. 

I was lying on high pile of fresh straw and blankets, and fresh food had been left by my bedside. 

"Kaim," Ahraib said. "Please."

"Leave," I said. I let my anger propel me up, before I could think too much on it. My time spent clenching and unclenching my muscle groups had paid off. I leaned my back against the cold stone wall and kept my balance by cupping my hands around my thighs. 

I realized that underneath my blankets, I was naked. I scanned for my gear before realizing that all of it had been lost to me long before I had been imprisoned there.

"Would you not let me explain anything? All I have done for you -- is that not the least you can do? To simply hear my words?"

"All you have done for me?" I asked. I forgot about my difficulty in speaking just moment prior. And it proved to work to my advantage: The more I spoke, the easier it became. "Old man, are you insane?"

"Your daughter lives because of me," he said. The straightening of his back and the darkening of his features reminded me that he was, indeed, one of the eight Masters. "Haytham and you, as well. All three of you live because of me. Me, and me alone."

"How?" I asked incredulously.

"That will require much explanation. Are you willing?"

"Is her life in danger now?"

"Not immediate. She is being kept nearby. And her son is being cared for by sisters in the inner gates."

"Then yes, speak."

Ahraib sat down a fair distance from me, folding his legs underneath him. "What do you know of how Altaïr came to be called the savior of our people?"

"Only that Al Mualim was a traitor," I said, eyeing Ahraib with open disdain. He didn't hide from it. "Altaïr fought off the invaders and then dispersed power among eight."

"It wasn't invaders: Altaïr was forced to kill brothers and innocents. And Al Mualim was a traitor, but not in the way you may think. He used the Piece of Eden to enslave the minds of citizens and Assassins, who he then forced to attack Altaïr . Al Mualim sought to seize control of all Masyaf, using these slaves as his army. After that, there is no telling how far he would have gone."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" he asked me, regarding me with that same level expression I remembered from my younger days. "The Piece of Eden, what do you know of it and how it works? Have you touched it? Held it? Do you know the promises it whispers to its wielders? No, my son, you do not."

"Do you?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, the lines on his face looking deeper. "Yes, I do." He swallowed before continuing. "Altaïr split power, yes, but not for the reason you think. He was afraid of what he might do if left the sole person responsible for the Piece of Eden. So he chose eight of us among the survivors from Al Mualim's overthrow to serve as his … moderators, of sorts. Every time he used it, we were there."

"Why didn't you fear him enslaving all of you then?" I asked, letting sarcasm rise up in my words.

If he heard it, he ignored it. "Because the Piece of Eden only grants that power to those with hearts capable of such actions. Altaïr was not that type of man."

I was growing angrier. "What is this Piece of Eden? You cannot tell me it actually exists."

"Accept it or do not. It is up to you. Just let me tell the story, and then decide for yourself," Ahraib said gently. "Just know that it was acquired by Altaïr , who stole it from the hands of the Templars, and that it has power greater than anything you would think possible. Some say it is proof that God doesn't exist. I say it is proof of the opposite."

"I care not," I said, and I meant it. "Just continue."

He sighed. "Your flippancy about the existence of God is a direct result of this object, as well. Did you know? Altaïr lost his faith because of the Piece of Eden. And after that, we decreed that the Assassins would stop teaching their students of God as they taught them of death." 

"I grow tired of these tangents. Just continue."

His shoulders fell. "As you wish. Altaïr is called our savior for two reasons. He freed us from Al Mualim, but he also saw the future of our people. The Piece of Eden, it changed him somehow. When he held it, he saw things that disturbed him. He talked of a world filled with constant light and noise. And he also saw that our continued existence would eventually come down to one man, and that one man would be his direct descendent."

"Is that why his bloodline is so fiercely protected and sought after?"

"Yes," Ahraib said. "The first time Altaïr held the Piece of Eden, he saw the destiny of all his descendents for hundreds and hundreds of years into the future. He was … changed by it. But there was one other who was there that first time."

"Who?"

"Omran. He had been fighting with Malik, but he stumbled upon Altaïr and Al Mualim's final battle. He rushed to Altaïr 's side, hoping to aid him. But Al Mualim was already dead. And instead, he, too, was given visions by the Piece of Eden."

"What did he see?"

Ahraib looked at me. "You."

"Me?"

"Altaïr saw Abbas, Haytham, and dozens and dozens others. But Omran, he saw you. He did not know who you were or where you could be found. But he knew that some day, you would be vital to the Assassins' survival. 'From the son and the grandson shall come the heir,' Omran said. Those were the words he heard in his heard when he looked upon you. Perhaps the Piece of Eden revealed you to him because you and his daughter's fates were so deeply intertwined." 

"Aless," I said quietly. 

"Yes," he said. "In truth, at that time, you hadn't even been conceived yet. But he had no way of knowing that. So a decision was made. Altaïr and Omran were given the titles of Wielders. For they and they alone received visions from the Piece of Eden when they touched it. Once per year, for many years, they would seek its truths while we remaining six watched. 

"Life continued. Altaïr fell in love with a Christian woman, and Abbas, Haytham's father, was born. Altaïr feared for the life of his son and his lover, so he, with the blessing of the masters, hid them away in Jerusalem. This is also when he began claiming celibacy. He didn't want their identity to be discovered."

"But it was."

"Yes," Ahraib said. "His wife was killed. And eventually, so were Abbas and Haytham's mother. It was in between these two tragedies that you, my son, were conceived."

"My parents ... That was all a lie, wasn't it?" I asked with a smirk.

"Yes," Ahraib said. "Your mother, her name was Adha. She was a woman we thought dead long ago. But somehow, Altaïr found her again. We know not how. They shared a night of passion, which he freely confessed to us. We blamed him not. His use of the Piece of Eden was eating at his sanity. But in the arms of this lost love, he felt like himself again. 

"What we didn't know, however, was that Adha became pregnant. We discovered that was intentional: She wanted no one to know, least of all the Assassins. Altaïr told her that night that the threats to Abbas' life were constant. She did not want the same fate for her child. So she made contact with her cousin, who agreed to raise you. When your parents were murdered, Adha was already dead. And we, of course, did not know of your existence. Which is why a son of Altaïr lived on the streets for so many years.

"Then one day, Omran's vision changed. You see, for all those years, Altaïr and Omran saw the exact same thing when they held the Piece of Eden. But that all changed when he saw you, dirty and starving in the streets of Damascus."

"What of Altaïr?"

"He was not told. Omran came to we remaining six in private."

"Why?"

"He feared Altaïr's reaction. In truth, we were meeting without his knowledge quite frequently. Altaïr was losing his mind, yet we would not disgrace him publicly. So he stayed one of the eight in name, but not in duty." He paused to rub the bridge of his nose. "We knew we had to find you and rescue you, but we also knew we couldn't send any of the Assassins. That, after all, was how word of Abbas' identity was leaked to the Templars."

"Not by you?"

"No," he said as he let his hand drop from his face. "My own treachery … occurred later. But as I said, we wanted to keep the matter of utmost secrecy. That is why I was sent. That is how I came to be the one who 'found' you." 

I remembered that moment briefly. He had appeared in front of me, like a white ghost. I dropped my knife, terrified at his speed and fluidity. I asked him if I could do anything for him in exchange for my life. It was then that I saw the genuine kindness in his eyes. From his robes came bread, real bread. I wasn't sure if he planned to rape me or kill me, but he had food, so I followed him blindly, all the way back to Masyaf.

"Altaïr was never told, then?" I asked.

"Never. To protect your identity and to protect his sanity, as well." He looked at me. "I would apologize to you for this, and it would be the first of many apologizes I would freely give to you during the telling of these stories. But I fear you would accept none of them."

"You would fear correctly."

"Then I continue. Altaïr and Omran continued seeking visions from the Piece of Eden, but all went quiet. You see, after Abbas' birth, Altaïr felt the breach between he and his descendents close ever so slightly. Yet, when you gave birth to your son …"

"What?"

"Nothing. Omran saw nothing. Just your face, as he had for so many years prior."

A terrible, terrible thought crept into my mind. "You killed them, Aless and Jaim. It was never plague."

"It was not my hand, no, but my inaction. I had a suspicion, but I thought the masters beyond such cruelty. Omran and Altaïr were kept in ignorance, as well. Omran because Aless was his daughter, and Altaïr for reasons I've already mentioned."

At that moment, I knew I had to kill every last one of the masters. Ahraib watched the resolve turn my face to stone. "Shall I continue?" he asked me. What he was really asking was if I planned to kill him at that moment, or if I could wait. 

"That is why you came to me now, isn't it? Because you knew me physically incapable of defeating you."

"Perhaps," Ahraib said. "I simply wanted you to see the truth, my son. That is all. You may act however you deem necessary after it is done. But I will not speak to closed ears. These old lips only have so many words left."

"Continue."

"The masters had become corrupt by their own desire for self-preservation. And when Jaim was born and Omran saw nothing, they thought that meant that Aless was somehow the 'incorrect' lover for you. That Jaim was just a fluke. They blamed me, said I had let you fall in love with her. 

"When they came to me and said Aless and Jaim had died of plague, I knew it to be a lie."

"Your love for me, was that also a lie?"

"No," he said, drawing a scoff from me. "I don't care if you don't believe me. But know this: I betrayed my brothers for you. After I learned of their death, I aligned myself with the Templars. And shortly after, I became the sole wielder of the Piece of Eden. Omran, you see, was also being poisoned by the orb, and the death of his daughter took his mind beyond the breaking point. He, like Altaïr, could conduct himself in daily affairs. But we knew neither of them were well.

"That is why your babe survived. I lied to the other masters and told them that the Piece of Eden was giving me visions, as well. But in truth, I wanted that title so I could prevent any more needless death."

"What did you feel then, when you held it?" I asked.

"Just promises," he said, his eyes straining. "Empty, tempting promises." He shook his head to dismiss the matter. "When your Aless arrived at our gates, I told the masters that I saw our fate in her. And they had no choice but to believe it. And when Aless and Haytham became lovers, I said the same. And now, Aless' son, I told them that he is the direct descendant that we have been seeking."

" 'From the son and grandson shall come the heir'," I repeated.

"Yes, it is possible that all of this, all of this death and misery, is truly how all was meant to be played out. But I prefer to not think on it."

"What of the cruelty to Aless? Do you know Bradford meant to kill her babe?"

"Which is why I sent two teams. I sent the team of loyal Assassins, led by Zarif, to attack them directly. And I sent Imad and the others to keep their eyes on Bradford. I hold much influence, but at times, the Templars act without my knowledge. Which is what happened when Aless and Haytham were attacked. They had grown tired of my excuses as to why I could not bring them the Piece of Eden directly. In truth, I hold no loyalty to the Christians. It had been my hope to mislead both sides … I know that to be a fool's game now.

"So many times I tried to tell you all of this. I wanted to tell you after Aless and Jaim died, but you were too fragile. And then you brought a daughter home. I couldn't put you at any more risk, now that a life was in your hands. And when she grew older, you fled to Damascus. And finally, I hoped to communicate to you through Frances. I had heard whisperings of the abduction attempt, and I wanted you two to unite to save Aless. But I did not see the depths of Frances' hatred for you. It was another mistake.

"So I am left telling all of this to you now, my son," he said as he pulled himself to his feet. "I give you this information freely. And I also give you an opportunity for escape. In three days, four brothers will come for you. One is loyal to me. Use him as you will."

"Why will they come?"

"The formal trial, where the fate of you and Aless will be decided. I tell you now, it will be death. So you will have your chance to save her … and to quench your thirst for the blood of the masters."

He opened the cell door and locked it behind him. 

"Three days. Prepare yourself."

I didn't answer, just watched him slip away, his black hood pulled over his sullen face.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

I've written before about a warrior's instinct. How the body, mind and soul can all blend into one instrument of death. Previously, I had only experienced this harmony for a few moments. Dodging Isra's arrows in the forest was one example.

But for those next three days, I became more in tune with that primal side of me than ever before. I ate little, hardly slept. Even my breathing was different: It was more focused, purposeful breathing that further centered me. 

Most of those hours were spent walking around my cell. I'm sure to the untrained eye, it would appear I had gone mad. And that was exactly what my caretakers thought. After all, to their knowledge, I had been locked in sleep for six months. And suddenly, I was up, eating and drinking unaided and asking for clothes.

In truth, walking revealed to me more information than I ever thought possible. Lying still in my body for such a long time had made me hypersensitive to its inner workings. With each step, I added to that knowledge. 

Know thyself, I've heard said. If only it were that easy. 

My wounds had closed, yes. In place of the holes left by the arrows and the crossbow bolt was fresh, pink, puckering skin. Soon, they would meld into the landscape of cuts and bumps already decorating my midsection. My left side ached, but it had that old injury ache, not the grinding pain of newly broken bones. 

But I had little chance: My muscles were weak. For six months, I hadn't worked them properly. Yet I only had three days to prepare myself. And I knew the masters would be guarded by brothers. Many brothers. Younger than me, stronger than me, faster than me.

But to the warrior's mind, these are all just obstacles to the final goal, not reasons to give up. If my muscles will give out after a few moments, then I'll simply have to kill them in one breath.

The four guards came for me at dusk on the third day, just as Ahraib said. With my heightened senses, I immediately spotted the traitor. He held himself differently and walked with a clipped gait.

He's nervous, I thought. 

One of the four dumped a pile of clothes at my feet.

"Change," he ordered. "You shall be dressed in the ceremonial white for the audience."

Three of them turned away to grant me privacy. But the fourth, the same man I had spotted, folded his arms and acted as if to watch me. Would his deceit have been so obvious to me before my injury? I wondered. Would I have spotted the way his eyes darted, the way he kept his lower back clenched, the way he kept scuffing his boot along the floor?

I doubted it. 

I snapped my foot into the backside of one of the Assassins' knees. His stance gave way, and the traitor plunged his blade through the backside of his neck. He didn't pull it out. Instead, he pulled free his short sword and cut through the remaining two, long before they had a chance to reach for their own weapons and form a defense.

Two lay dead, silent, but the third managed to howl in pain when he crumbled to the floor.

"Damn it," the traitor said, slicing through the final survivor's midsection, from navel to breastbone. "Let's pray no one heard." He looked me over. "Get dressed."

"And what of you?" I asked, gesturing to the blood on his robes. He looked down and cursed again. "Perhaps you should change into this robe, and then claim ignorance when you bring me before the masters, yes?"

"A fair idea," he said as he began to slip off the robe. "Keep watch."

As I leaned against the cell bars, looking down the hallway, I grinned at the realization that I wouldn't be forced to put on those stained robes again. Yes, the garment brought to me was clean. But all of them -- the entire brotherhood -- was stained with lies, deceit and selfish motivations.

When the brother finished, he took out a pair of shackles. I brought my hands behind my back, and he locked them on me. "What is your plan, son of Altaïr?"

"No plan," I admitted. "Just death."

"To all the masters?"

"Yes."

"Praise God," he muttered. "Their tyranny, at last, will come to an end. Since the abduction attempt, they kill any who hear word of your bloodline. My sister, Isra, dead. And one of my cousins, she is one of the sisters assigned to care for you. And now that you're well, she knows her life is in danger, too."

"I am not your savior," I said bluntly. "I fight for no one but my daughter."

"I know," he replied as he pulled the bodies into the corner of the cell, out of any passersby's immediate line of sight. "But to many, you will be, intended or not." He unlocked the cell door, opened it and led me through, his hand gripped on my shoulder. The corridors of the inner dungeon were empty, as were most of the cells. "You see? All dead. The only prisoners left alive down here are you and your daughter."

"What of you?" I asked. "What is your plan?"

"To take Ahraib to safety. And then to aid you, as best I can."

"Ahraib does not wish to live. That is why he sent you to me, because he knows I want the blood of the masters. Yet you would save him from me?"

"Yes," the traitor said as we began climbing the stairs out of the dungeon. "He is a broken man, but I still owe him much. I believe he can overcome the pain in his heart."

"Then you obviously know nothing of pain."

We both went silent as the portcullis leading out slid up. At the bottom of a short drop, I could see the practice arena of sand. Brothers and sisters had stopped in their training to stare at me. But it wasn't with hatred. It was with equal parts hope and fear.

He led me into the fortress, his hand still tight on my arm. Other brothers took their place in the procession, some in front, and some in back. I counted about five Assassins in front of me, each heavily armed.

They will all fight for me, I realized. Ahraib has that many loyal to him.

We wound their the fortress' corridors until we came upon the masters' audience chamber. The group filed in: five on one side, five on the other. A few were already standing at attention before the table. And in the center, there was a place for me next to my daughter.

The guard acting as if he were holding her down into a kneel allowed her to turn her head to watch me enter. As I was shoved into the same position next to her, I saw a scar slashed across her face.

"I told you to clean that," I chided quietly.

"Silence," one of the masters boomed from under his black hood.

She pursed her lips at me and flicked her curls. I glanced her over and marveled at her toned, sculpted physique. She had been waiting for this day. And the shining moisture in her eyes told me she never thought I had survived.

If she resented me for leaving Haytham behind, she didn't show it. 

Her gold choker, still around her neck, glinted in the torchlight. I wondered how many caretakers' fingers she had broken in her fight to keep it.

The eight masters found their seats. By name, I knew only Ahraib. Some were new faces, some I remembered from six years ago. They adjusted themselves in their chairs and looked down at us from their raised table. 

"Brothers, why is Kaim not in the white robes of the Assassin, as requested?" asked one of the masters, folding his hands.

"The garment fell apart when the prisoner tried it on," said the brother who had led me from my cell. "And no other could be found on such short notice."

"It matters not," he conceded. "Shall we begin?"

The masters and brothers recited the Assassin's Creed, the low murmur of voices reverberating off the stone walls and domed ceiling. I refused to even move my lips. Aless did the same.

"You are both charged with treason against the Assassins and all of Masyaf; murder of your superiors, including a Master; fleeing from your pursuers; and pledging your undying allegiance to the Templars and their God. How would you respond to these charges?"

"Does it matter?" Aless asked.

The master rose in his seat, agitated. "The woman refuses to answer. And what of you, Kaim?"

"The same," I said, uninterested.

His lip curled into a sneer. "Then your concurrence can be verified. For earlier this day, you agreed that you, a son of Altaïr, would put to death the Christian woman beside you. And that you would then joyously live the remainder of your life in the dungeon."

"Oh did I?" I asked, cocking my head. 

"You did, considering you agreed so in trade for your life, but this life, as well." He turned to the main entrance, and a sister carried in a pale-skinned infant.

Aless turned her head. "Put him down! He's mine! Don't touch him!" 

I watched the brother standing over her gently tug at her shoulder. It was a warning: He knew if she became too emotional, he would have to take physical action to silence her. And, judging by the pain in his eyes, he didn't want to.

Aless settled, turning her head back to the eight masters. But I could see her trembling underneath the brother's hold.

"As you can see, the Christian wench's child is fine," the master said. "He shall be raised in secret. Kept in the security of our gates, for all his days."

"A breeding horse, essentially," I responded. "In an effort to save your own hides."

"Quiet!" howled the main speaker. "How dare you! You do not deserve the title you bear, son of Altaïr."

"I never asked for it," I shot back.

"Good, good," he said, regaining his composure. "Then let's be done with this, and you can begin the rest of your life, in a cell."

Ahraib also rose from his chair. In his hand was an ornate long sword. I recognized it as the sword that had been used for executions by the Assassins for decades. He carried it down the stairs of the raised platform and handed it to one of the brothers.

Four Assassins gathered around me as they removed my shackles and handed me the sword. I was positioned directly in front of my daughter.

Too heavy, the warrior wolf in me said. But it will have to do.

Two others held Aless down, who obediently submitted to their touch. They pulled apart her curls and exposed the backside of her neck. I could see the choker contrasting with her white skin.

"End it, son of Altaïr," one of the masters said. "End it."

Yes, end it, I thought. The brothers around me sensed my building energy as I brought up the blade. Too heavy, I thought again. It will be difficult.

But then again, nothing in my life has been easy, the wolf reminded me.

And with all my strength, no, the wolf's strength, I threw the long sword at the standing master. 

He grabbed at his chest, almost curiously, to inspect the sword hilt now sticking out of him.

And then, chaos.

All of the brothers around me sprung to action, rushing to the head table. The masters began to cry out, and from the entrance came tens of brothers still loyal to them.

Aless had rolled away and was standing on her feet. She flicked off her unlocked shackles, leaped over the master's platform and went running out of the back exit. 

Her son, I realized. A sister went fleeing out the rear door with Aless' son. My daughter looked so primal, in the white robes of the Assassin and her hair flying behind her. For a second, I almost pitied the woman -- or anyone -- who had to face her.

A brother beside me handed me a short sword. "Beyond Ahraib, don't leave any in black alive," he said.

Not that I had to be told, I thought. 

And then all conscious thought ended. I gave into anger, gave into unspoken urges, gave into the thirst for blood and suffering and agony that rides underneath the surface of every man. I wanted to cause death, as much death as possible. 

My arms were rotating, one to keep my balance, the other serving as an extension for the weapon. I turned on the balls of my feet, repositioning my stance to find the surest angle for the next blade swing. Around me, I was dimly aware of bodies falling.

The mists began to roll up in front of my vision, and this time, I welcomed them. Death comes to claim me because it is jealous of me, I thought. 

White robes, black robes, I wasn't sure. Loyal and disloyal. Young and old. Skilled and unskilled. Man and woman. It didn't matter, they died. If they came at me with a weapon, I stopped that weapon, often by just taking the extremity that was clutching it. 

"Father, stop!" I heard from above the thin clouds. But it was too late, much too late. I was already enveloped, and nothing was going to convince to climb back out this time. I was fulfilling my duty to my daughter, the only way I knew how.

As I continued cutting down all who would dare come in my reach, faces began forming in the mist. 

Brothers, deceived and confused, who chased me through the streets Masyaf. Isra, howling at me in mourning. Ghazi, standing alone in a field against an entire platoon of Templars.

And Frances. At last, she pulled herself out from the others. She, bathed in blood, embodied all of the self loathing and emptiness that comes with one who only seeks vengeance.

"Take me," she moaned, reaching for me.

But her call no longer held any appeal. I didn't have to take her: I already was her. 

Die, I thought. Die again and again, until you are silenced. My blade arced through the air, slicing off the head of that cursed phantom.

But it was all wrong. For as the head fell away, so did the mists. 

And in front of me lay the headless body of Aless, her screaming son still in her arms.

There is little left to tell, I fear. I scooped up the babe, lifted the gold choker from the corpse and fled, just as I had all those years ago when I fled from the Templar castle with Aless in my arms. The bells of Masyaf rang in my ears, shaking my soul with the weight of my deed.

I rode hard and fast, away from Masyaf, until I collapsed out of the saddle, the child crying out to me in hunger and confusion.

Eventually, I found the same sinkhole that Haytham had taken shelter in, not so long ago. There I stayed for days and days, keeping the child hidden and fed.

I couldn't bring myself to feel anything toward him.

It has been four months since that night, and I still cannot. I never will. I'm not worthy. 

I know this because I see the mists in my dreams. And Frances is now flanked by two women. To her left, a woman with fire and conviction in her heart. And to her right, a woman with eyes that burn cold with clarity. Both women I loved with everything I possessed, both dead because of me.

In my mind's eye, they hate me. Frances has exposed my true nature to them, at last.

Yes, I'm still a selfish, selfish bastard. In the writing of this, I realize that no one has seen me more clearly than my mortal enemy.

Now that this boy is older, I no longer fear that he will succumb to early childhood ailments. I failed in every duty and promise I ever made. But if nothing else, I have kept my daughter's son alive.

So now I set out, to find him a family to live a quiet life, just as my own mother did for me when she left me with her cousin in Damascus.

Perhaps I will find someone to give this gold choker to, someone who can someday tell the boy his true destiny. 

Perhaps I'll leave my story with that person, too. 

It's the least this selfish bastard can do before I commit one final, selfish act.

* * *

Author's Note: I uploaded the final two chappies at the same time.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Desmond shut his eyelids as the Animus slid back and the glaring overhead fluorescents came knifing into his pupils.

He sat up and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to remove the white circles from his vision he had become so accustomed to. His legs dangled over the backside of the Animus.

"I need a fucking drink," he muttered.

"Seriously?" Lucy asked, looking over her clipboard.

"Yeah, seriously." He rested his hands on his knees as he leaned back and let out a yawn. "Why, you have something?"

"Not me. Vidic. He keeps tequila in his office drawer for when he's nervous." Her heels filled the vacant, warehouse-like space with tiny, sure clicking sounds as she walked over to her boss' desk. From a bottom drawer she pulled two shot glasses and a telltale, squat bottle filled with amber liquid. It was over half empty.

Lucy walked back to Desmond and offered him a glass. 

"Won't he notice?" Desmond asked, accepting it.

"I fill it with water, to keep the level the same."

Desmond's eyes widened. She pretended not to see his shock as she poured. "So, what happened."

As he had so many nights before, Desmond relayed to her what he had been reading inside the Animus. But this time, it was different. The document had ended, and the Animus slid back on its own. Show's over, it seemed to say. 

When he finished the retelling, he wiggled the shot glass at her again, and she filled it.

"My family is fucked up, huh," he said before downing it with a swallow. 

Lucy took a few dainty sips from hers. "I would say that's a fair assessment, yes."

"So, what was the point of all that?" 

Lucy sat on a backless stool, rolled in closer to the Animus and glanced over her notes. "Nothing."

"Nothing? What do you mean, nothing?"

"We learned nothing on how the Piece of Eden can be used to see the future. It was a preposterous claim anyway, and your descendant's writing told us nothing on how it might even be remotely possible."

Desmond groaned. "All that. All that time, a waste." He looked at his empty shot glass. "I need another one."

She pursed her lips. "If we take any more, he'll definitely notice."

"Just tell him I took it. What's he gonna do, imprison me?"

"Good point," she said, handing him the bottle.

Desmond took a chug. "But I don't get it. Why not just send me into Altaïr again? You know, after all that shit with Al Mualim, while he was a Wielder."

"Too dangerous," Lucy said dismissively, taking another sip. 

"Why?"

"We think the Piece of Eden has something to do with the bleeding. After Altaïr's final battle with Al Mualim, you and your ancestor both were present, in a way, when it activated. Only after that did you gain his uncanny intuitive abilities."

"What, you think the reverse happened to Altaïr?"

"Yes, I do," she said. "I think he bled into you, and you bled into him. And Omran, by proxy. Ahraib said Altaïr spoke of a world of constant light and sound. Think about it. Lawn mowers, dusk to dawn lights, refrigerators, traffic, even the fan on your computer … None of this was around back then. It probably just registered as chaos to his primary senses."

"What? And it made Altaïr crazy?"

"Maybe. Ahraib thought so, if Kaim's writings are correct. A photographic memory is one genetic trait we've been able to trace through your bloodline, so it is fair to assume that most of Kaim's dialogue recountings are close, if not perfect, to what actually transpired."

Desmond wiped his mouth with his sleeve after taking another drink. The tequila burned warm in his stomach. "So what? Just put me in him. Come on. We have to figure out how they made the Piece of Eden give them those visions before Abstergo does."

"No," she said firmly. "I won't allow it. The bleeding has already occurred. We've already seen how psychological episodes can be witnessed by the Animus user. Every time Altaïr killed someone, you saw that yourself. How he believed he was speaking to the deceased's spirit. And if he truly did develop some psychological disorder, there is no reason to believe that you won't continue witnessing his episodes. And they, in turn, could affect you."

"You think it could drive me crazy? Please, Lucy. After everything that's happened, don't you think I would have already cracked?" he said, pointing to his temple with his index finger and making looping motions.

"I won't risk it, and I won't allow it," she affirmed, snatching the bottle from his hand. She refilled her shot and slurped at its rim.

"Well, put me in Aless. Or Haytham. Or Kaim, even."

"Aless is impossible. In males, the Animus traces DNA on the Y chromosome, which is only present in men. Kaim is not your direct ancestor, so that is also impossible. And even if Haytham survived that attack, I wouldn't allow it, for the same reason I won't allow you to go further into Altaïr's timeline."

"You think he lost it, too?"

She finished her glass, much more quickly than last time. "It's highly possible."

"Now you're just guessing, Lucy."

"Maybe," she said as she refilled. "But I also have no credible evidence that we would even discover anything of use. We have no starting point. And you know our time is limited."

It was true. He and Lucy had been meeting from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. for many nights now, hoping to form a plan. To do what, Desmond didn't know. 

I'm too fucking buzzed to know much of anything right now, he thought. 

But Lucy, it turned out, was also a master hacker, and had programmed the computers to loop the security camera footage. This allowed them to move about freely and to use the Animus.

It allowed them to do other things, too. Things that let Desmond know that Lucy hid one hell of a body under that lab coat. But when she was thinking, Desmond knew he didn't have a chance with her. 

"So how does the Animus even store writings like this one, anyway? Or the one from Altaïr?" he asked her as she reached for the bottle back. Lucy shot him a glare, and Desmond obediently retracted his hand like she had whacked him with a newspaper.

"The document must be read by at least two of your ancestors," she said, finishing the shot with a quick gulp and refilling. "It has something to do with short-term and long-term memories, how they are stored in the brain."

"So somebody got their hands on Kaim's little diatribe and then passed it down. Or showed it to their kid, at least. You don't know who?"

"No idea," Lucy said, pouring him a cup again before setting the bottle on the floor. "And diatribes are typically spoken, not written."

"Congratulations, English minor," he grumbled. By now, the alcohol was thrumming in his head. Every time he blinked, lines formed before his vision and then dissipated. His alcohol tolerance had all but disappeared, after being locked up in the labs for so long. "Kaim, you know, he didn't get his big, final battle, like Altaïr did. He just killed a lot of people. Not innocent people, by any means, but not guys out for world domination like Al Mualim was, either."

"What, you wanted him to kill his mortal enemy and then ride off into the sunset, riding double with Aless? Real life doesn't work like that." To accent the point, she leaned forward, scrunched her face and downed the shot with a quick toss of her head. She gave a victorious smirk and restraightened her frame.

"Bitter?" he asked her.

"Me, or the tequila?"

Desmond grinned. "Both."

"Yes, to both."

"Well, fine, be bitter. But I'm not. You don't even care, do you? I mean, shit, Kaim was like, my what? Great, great, great, so on, uncle. And Haytham, my grandfather, you know? I want to know what happened to them. Put me in."

Lucy would never admit it to him, but she was feeling the alcohol, too. She couldn't keep still in her prim posture. "Reckless," she muttered. "And pointless. I won't allow it."

"What if I told you I had learned how to use the Animus, huh? Then what?"

She just shook her head. "I'd tell you that someone with the proper, extensive scientific background has to locate and decode the DNA and program it into the Animus before you 'use the Animus' by yourself. Vidic can be kept ignorant about your late-night field trips with Altaïr, but not me. You're welcome, by the way. I've been clearing the history to keep it a secret."

Desmond held his filled shot glass in both hands and looked down at the floor. "Some nights, I feel more like myself when I'm in his skin. Like, some day soon, I'm going to lose myself entirely to him." 

"Don't talk like that."

"I mean it," he said, sliding more tequila down the back of his throat. "I really do. And on really long nights, I don't even know if it would be a bad thing."

"Desmond, stop it. You know I'm the one responsible for monitoring your mental health. And if you start developing any signs of a disorder, they'll do to you what they did to the others."

"OK, well, what about you? You're from Malik's blood, right? Aren't you curious? Don't you want to know what happened? What they went through? What they …"

"No," she interrupted. "No, I don't. I don't because I know the risks. And you do, too."

"I don't give a shit about the risks anymore. Why should I? I'm going to die here, anyway."

"No you won't," she said with finality, holding the empty glass in her cupped palm. She was slumped slightly now, and a strand of hair had fallen loose from her short ponytail.

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do? Kill everybody, like Kaim did?"

"No," she said, setting the glass next to the bottle.

"Then what, huh? What can you do? Nothing." 

"Well, I can do this," she said, standing up and unbuttoning her shirt. She threw it to the side and kicked off her stockings.

Desmond shook his head. "You're too drunk."

"So are you," she said, seating herself in his lap, her skirt pulled up to her waist and one bare leg hanging over each side of the Animus.

Desmond decided not to fight it. If only Vidic knew she wore those little, lacy thongs until those pencil skirts, he thought as he licked his teeth and crawled his hand up her side. "Where's your condom. Go get it in your purse."

"Don't have one." Desmond opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head, silencing him. "Like I said, if nothing else, I can do this."

His belt buckle clinked as it hit the floor. 

What was it Kaim said, about a second of self indulgence? Desmond thought, through the heat of the tequila and the woman preparing to ride him. 

Oh well.

Haytham read the last page and then passed it to his right, letting each of the masters pore over it.

"So it is decided then," the last at the table said, putting it in the pile. "The Piece of Eden shall never be touched again. Not by any who swears himself an Assassin."

"I am pleased to hear you speak this way, brother," Haytham said, scratching at his black beard. "Shall we formally let our opinions be known, then?"

Murmurs of acquiescence rose up from the other seven masters, who had been selected only a few weeks prior.

Haytham cleared his throat and glanced over each of their faces with his green eyes. "If you are in favor of forever sealing away the Piece of Eden for the good of the Assassins and for the good of all humanity, and if you are in favor of, instead, pledging that the eight masters of the Assassins rededicate themselves to keeping said power sealed, raise your right hand."

All did.

"I am dually pleased," Haytham said. "My uncle can now, at last, rest in peace. For his writings have brought attention to and, at last, ended the corruption that resulted in the death of so many he, and I, held dear."

He glanced at his son, who had been given permission to sit on the ground at the end of the table. As the last master in the line set a page on the stack, the youth reached up, took the page, read it and then put it back in its place. 

The boy looked at him and nodded. Haytham nodded back.

He couldn't deny the pride swelling in his chest. After all, he wore the black robes of a master, and his son wore the white robes of a brother. Both of them could wear the garments with pride, at last.

In the candlelight, he could see Aless' gold choker resting on his son's neck. 

END

* * *

Author's Note:

I do not own "A.C." If I did, I would have made it more like Metal Gear with the stealth stuff. And the A.I. would have been way better. And oh yeah, the fact that Al can't swim? Stupid.

To everybody who made it this far, you rock. Please give me one more comment and let me know what you thought of the end. I would appreciate it lots and lots! XD

I'm going to call this "complete" for now. At some point, I'll probably go back and clean this whole thing up. Maybe not.


End file.
